Past Illusion
by The Illusion Mage
Summary: A death, a stranger, and a bullet from Jack Kelly's past turn up, throwing the Newsboys of Manhattan into a tangled web of intrigue, suspicion, and possible murder... *chapters four and five fixed* thanks for the reviews so far. ^__^
1. Enter the Players

Enter the Players 

_"Sometimes our light goes out,_  
_but is blown into flame by another human being._  
_Each of us owes deepest thanks_  
_to those who have rekindled that light."_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

She ran. 

Running was all she could think of. Her muscles strained, her lungs screamed for more air, a pale, shadowy figure illuminated only by the few rays of moonlight that shone through the clouds and the dancing flame of nearby streetlamps. Bare feet slapped the pavement; she hadn't bothered putting on shoes. There was no time for shoes or any other physical needs when Darkness began its hunt for you.

_Then again,_ she thought dryly, _isn't darkness already inside me?_

Yes. Darkness. She was darkness.

She wanted to pause, wanted to stop and fling herself down in the gutter and sob for all she was worth, but she had no more tears left, had no more emotions left. There wasn't any room for them if you intended on surviving out here, in the streets. The bundle of newspapers she had been clutching under her arm was long gone, having been dropped somewhere along the line as she raced forwards, trying to convince herself the rain would wash her clean, and that her legs would carry her far from where she had been.

_...Can't stop...not now..._

Suddenly, her foot caught on a crack in the pavement, and she gave a yelp of pain as the flesh was gashed open, falling forwards but managing to catch herself before she fully hit the ground.

_Manage. I always manage._

Slowly, silently, a bitter tear streamed from one of her startlingly green eyes, coursing down her cheek, then becoming one with the drops of rain that poured from a darkened, storm-bruised sky. But she wouldn't let herself make any sort of noise whatsoever. Not now. She struggled to hold herself together.

The elements seemed to take pity on her, and the shower relented slightly, the clouds rolling back to reveal just a glimmer of moonlight. 

But it was enough. 

The girl's gaze strayed to where the dancing rays of illumination had pooled on the boardwalk, calming herself with a single memory, eyes glazing over, looking very much like a phantom, a dead one in the realms of the living. 

_Churchbells pealed far in the distance, and the sunny sky and verdant green fields of the graveyard contrasted sharply with the gaping hole in the ground, open and ready to swallow its victim. Or so that was how Mara Charlotte McKeary chose to see it. The little girl prayed for rain, hoping that the sky would open up and weep bitter tears for the grandfather she had been so close to and then lost all too soon._

All present at the fueneral were dressed in black, and Mara was furious to see that some of them had been turning it into more of a social gathering than anything else. She was even more infuriated when somebody- she wasn't sure who- thrust a handful of sacred dirt into her hand and urged her to sprinkle it into the grave.

The girl's fist clenched tight over the soil, trembling, halfway between grief and rage. She shunned change, shunned loss.

Her older brother, Martin, clutched her shoulder tightly, realizing that if he did not stop her, she would most likely say or do something impulsive that would most likely wind up getting her in trouble.

Leaning down, he smiled, dark brown hair catching the sun's rays, eyes as green as his sister's glinting in the light.

"Hey now. You wanna sit with me in the shade, play a game of cards maybe?"

Had Mara been a few years older, she would have probably realized he was merely trying to comfort her, take her mind off of the current situation. But, little ones will be little ones, and instead of thanking him politely, she flung the dirt down and would have stormed off if he had not restrained her.

She turned back to Martin, chin quivering, eyes alight, as though she were not sure weather she should feel anger or give way to grief. Martin pulled her closer and wrapped his sister up in an embrace, letting her cry. She finally glanced up, tearstained face pleading for some sort of answer.

"Why'd he have to...to die?"

Martin looked unsure, not knowing how to answer such a question. Finally, a thought came to his mind.

"It's just the way things work, you know? Life goes on. Life always goes on. Good men die, but life goes on."

Mara didn't quite understand his words, but filed them in the back of her mind anyway.

Miserably, the girl was brought back to reality, perfectly content to do nothing other then let the rain wash her clean...no, _desperately wanting_ the rain to wash her clean. She barely felt the sharp pains that lanced up her spine as somebody's foot connected with her back, but was startled when whoever it was gave a cry and fell forwards, bringing her to the ground as well. 

She tumbled facedown into the mud, giving a sharp yelp of pain as she felt the pavement remove a bit of skin from her knee. Gasping for breath from her nighttime run, she rolled over and tried to stand, slipping once more and landing in a very wet, tired, unhappy and uncermonious heap. The figure she had crashed into had managed to find his or her feet by this time, and automatically reached down to help her up. The girl ignored the hand and rose on her own accord, a bit disgruntled but admitting to herself that the miniature scene of chaos was partially her fault. She would die before apologizing, however. 

"Hey, you okay dere?" 

Definantely a male, a soft, husky tenor. She mumbled something undiscernable, her breath coming out in whispy plumes, straining her eyes to see who she had sent head over heels. 

After a few moments of tense silence, the boy stepped into the dancing light of a nearby streetlamp, squinting against the sudden brightness. The girl quickly took him into consideration, gaze roving over his tousled brown hair, just as damp as her's, enjoying the way his dark, expressive eyes glinted warily in what little light there was. She didn't bother smiling, expecting him to either apologize and then rush off towards wherever he was headed, or merely rush off. 

He didn't. 

Instead, he regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement, crossing both arms over his chest, seemingly oblivious to the rain that poured in torrent around them. 

"Hey miss, you okay?" he asked, sounding anything but conerned. "I mean, 's not every day I find pretty goils like you crouched in da gutter waitin' for someon' ta trip ovah dem." 

Yes, she was pretty, but "beautiful" was not a word that was very often used to describe her. Her face was all planes and angles, the cheekbones and chin coming to sharp points, giving the impression of some forest nymph when combined with the curly raven hair that cascaded over seemingly frail shoulders. What really drew the boy's attention were the eyes, green orbs set deep and sparkling with an odd sort of light. He locked gazes with her, cocking an eyebrow and waiting for a response to his question.

The girl blushed, then bristled defensively, but said absolutely nothing. The boy cocked his head, spitting on his hand then extending it. His 'assailant' seemed to come to life, breaking into a tiny smile and returning the gesture with minimal enthusiasm. It was enough. He warmed to her, pumping her arm up and down vigorously, much to her chagrin. 

"Da name's Snoddy. A newsie. And I'se guessin' you'se from Harlem?" 

The girl jerked slightly in surprise. "Where I'se from is none of your business." Then, she paused, vulnerable in that one moment. "How'dja know?" 

Snoddy didn't say anything for a moment, listening to the way the strong New York accent coming from between soft, full lips blending with a gentle Scottish one, all rolled into a pleasant musical alto. And he found himself fighting back the urge to request her to sing for him. 

Finally, the Manhattan newsboy responded. "Your boss payed a visit ta Cowboy before. Crash, right? And she took ya wit her." 

"Funny. I ain't nevah seen you. Da name's Mask," she added, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, wrapping her arms around herself. "And if you'll excuse me, I'se needs ta find da Lodgin' House before mornin'." 

"Well den, you'se really lost! You're headed towards Brooklyn." Snoddy paused, expression growing sly. "And speakin' of da Lodgin' House, dat's exactly where I'se headed." 

Mask nearly jumped in alarm at the name "Brooklyn," then cringed at the unspoken offer of a traveling partner. However, in a stroke of brutal honesty with herself, the girl grudgingly admitted that all other options were bound for disaster and chaos. 

"Hey, uh...ya mind takin' me wit ya, Snoddy?" she asked tentatively. Snoddy laughed easily and threw an arm around her shoulders. Much to his surprise, she sheid away. Physical contact between newies was commonplace, regardless of the span of time they had known each other, be it several years or several minutes, as was the case here. Snoddy removed his hat, running a hand threw thick, dark hair, giving his newfound companion a shrewd remark. 

"Shoah, you'se can come wit me. I ain't got no problem travelling in da company of classy ladies, and da ladies, well let's just say dey coitainly gots no problem wit me." 

"Jeez, whaddaya t'ink you are, God's gift ta women?" 

"My deah goil, I don't _t'ink_ I'se God's gift ta women. I know I am." 

"So how long ya been in denial like dis?" 

"Denial? Are you jokin'? Lemee tell ya about da time..." 

Snoddy's words were drowned out in the rumble of thunder that followed, and Mask surprised herself once more. The normally secretive and shy Harlem newsie was walking through a darkened street with a boy she barely knew, fighting the elements and laughing in the face of the rain and gale, and God help her, she was enjoying every second. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The duo practically thundered up the steps of the Lodging House, causing Kloppman to shoot them several dark looks. Snoddy leaned on the banister to support himself, exauhsted from walking against the wind and the fits of laughter he had shared with Mask along the way. The girl turned to him, caught his eye and winked boyishly. 

"Dat was a good trick ya pulled back dere, trippin' ovah your feet and soakin' dat old man wit da watah ya kicked up..." she trailed off, feeling as though her sides were about to explode with mirth. Mask's bout of girlish giggles stopped rather abruptly when Snoddy opened stepped into the bunk room, pulling her in after him, then, much to her alarm shoving her forwards for the personal inspection of each of the faces that turned to greet them. 

A short boy wearing a checkered vest, cigar dangling out of his mouth turned to them, abandoning his game of Poker to make a rather blunt comment. 

"Snoddy; back at last. Wit a goil. She give ya somethin' in return for a place ta sleep?" he half remarked, half inquired, tone deceptively inncent. Race was in high spirits and feeling immortal. Snoddy magically caused the euphoria that usually comes from winning to flee from his friend with a single dark look. The Manhattan newsie turned to his charge. 

"Awright Mask, da loudmouth heah is Racetrack, or Race, as we likes ta call him. Da one sittin' ovah dere in da corner tawkin' ta himself..." 

Pie Eater stopped his one-sided conversation to look up- 

"...is Pie Eater. He does dat when e's bored," Snoddy explained. "Da stupid one is Mush," he continued with more than a hint of affection. Mush shot a blank stare at Snoddy, then gave a lopsided smile to Mask and would have sauntered over had it not been for Blink's restraining hand on his shoulder, saying something about how he wasn't through talking to him. 

"Dat boy...da sleepin' one fightin' wit his blankets is Snipeshooter, or Snipe for short. Da guy pickin' his nose is Snitch-" 

"I was rubbin' it!" 

"...Da one in da pink...da guy dat looks like he's got da woild on his shoulders is Skittery. Da one dat just decided ta stop Pie eater from tawkin' to hisself is Boots..." 

Snoddy proceeded to rattle off a list of names, drawing some halfhearted banter and comebacks from his friends, Mask merely nodding curtly at each one, at times receiving a smile in return. Visiting newsies, especially if they were from Harlem were nothing new, even if they were female. Harlem was known for its great number of female newsies, their leader (Crash) having being a girl herself. 

Snoddy gave his friend a slight nudge, gazing down at her, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Awright. Ya see da bunk undah Jake dere? Dat ain't taken. We reserve dat for guests. Part of da hospitality Manhattan newsies are famous for." 

"Shoah. Anythin' ya say, Snoddy," Mask shot back, shouldering her carry sack and heading off the towards the bed. Jake greeted her warmly, and she returned the greeting, throwing her sack down on the mattress and sorting through her stuff, the Manhattan newsie paying rapt attention to the brass knuckles the girl drew out, regarded for a second, then tossed aside. 

Jack Kelly watched from a more shadowy corner of the room, a silent observer who had given their guest but a curt nod of recognition as he had been introduced. He watched her, half entranced by her movements, the decisveness with which she shifted about stirring something familiar in the back of his mind. It was something between wariness and a comforting memory.

Mask shifted slightly, her face at an angle so that her eyes locked with Jack's. Jack stared at her, frustrated that he could not recall or place the visage that seemed to startlingly familiar to him. The Harlem newsie looked as though she was going through a similar set of emotions, suddenly broke off and turned away.

The Manhattan leader jerked in surprise when Snoddy seated himself beside him. 

"So Snoddy, who's ya friend?" 

"Like I said, if you was listenin'," Snoddy replied teasingly. "Dat's Mask, newsie from Harlem. She'll be stayin' heah for a liddle while." 

"Why?" 

"I dunno." 

Jack's glance was one of sheer dissapproval. "Listen heah, Snoddy. Ya don't jist drag someone home witout knowin'..." 

Snoddy cut his friend off carelessly. "Aw, you worry too much. Besides, what's it ta you? It's pretty often we got visitors." 

Jack gave a grudging agreement, but added a single thing. 

"Watch her for me, will ya?" 

"Shoah. Though I still don't get why you'se so worried." 

Jack himself looked uncertain, but merely gave "his" newsie a glance that said it all. Snoddy backed down in agreement, taking it as a dismissal. 

"Whatevah ya say, Cowboy." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Racetrack looked the newcomer up and down, and decided he didn't like her one bit. The girl screamed arrogance, from the way she held herself to the haughty green eyes that could have been called 'icy' had they been blue. Allowing his feet to stray onto the table in front of him, he gazed at her challengingly and let out a short, harsh laugh.

"So, uh, ya gonna stay dere on dat bunk all night, or do ya plan on joinin' da fun?" he asked, gesturing towards the cards in front of him. Mask smirked.

"I don't see why you'd call dat 'fun,'" she retored. "Pushin' a bunch of scraps around on a table."

Racetrack feinged offence. "I'se hoit! I nevah thought I'd see da day I'd heah a newsie say dat."

The girl glanced scornfully at him, then turned her head away, throwing herself down on the bunk. Race persisted, taking it upon himself to bring the newcomer down to earth just a notch or two.

Thumbing casually through the deck of cards, Race began dealing them out once more, Itey and Snitch waiting pateintly as he did so. The boy had always liked games of chance, ever since he was a young one, and that had eventually led to him turning gambling into something of an art.

"Ya shouldn't tawk like dat ta your hosts," he said, laughing easily. "It's rude."

"I'se real shoah you'd know da meanin' of rude," she shot back, but this time, Race sensed a definite fatigue in her voice. Progress.

"So wheah ya from?"

"None of your business."

All newsies present fell silent, sensing some sort of conflict. Race was not about to dissapoint them.

"Oh, but it is," he answered. "Isn't it customary for da guest to give somethin' ta deir hosts in return for deir hospitality? Like a bit of information?"

Mask rose from the bunk and very grudgingly strode towards a darker part of the room, a place swathed in shadows. Race watched her quizzically, tipping his chair further back.

The Harlem newsie emerged carrying something. There were a few comments and a bit of laughter, but Race didn't have time to see exactly what the object was. The girl moved with lightening speed, crowning him with the bucket of water that Kloppman had been using to catch the raindrops that fell through a leaky roof.

Race gave a yelp of surprise as the frigid liquid soaked through his hair, trickled down his back and through his clothes. He tumbled backwards, still crowned with the bucket and taking his chair with him. Mask nodded in satisfaction, and couldn't resiest grinning at the general applause that followed.

Then, fatigue took over once more, and she headed back towards her bunk.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mask squeezed her eyes shut, unable to block out the noise of many rowdy newsboys talking, laughing, complaining and generally having a good time. Pointedly, she buried her head under her pillow, then reached out, groping blindly then extinguishing the lantern beside her, hoping to make a point. 

Foolish hope. Shattered dream. Blink and Specs threw a glance at the girl, but then rejoined their companions in the unceasing chatter that flowed freely around the room. Mask groaned softly pulled the covers over her head. 

After several failed attempts, sleep finally came, but for a price. 

As darkness closed in around her, the last thing Mask saw was Jake's face, leaning over his bunk to bid her goodnight. She mumbled a reply, then gasped as a sensation took hold of her, not quite dream, not quite flashback, but something inbetween. 

_A bit frightened, Mara clung to her brother like a limpet, but her eyes were bright with wonder at the series of Fourth of July fireworks going off before her._

The young seven year old was very close to Martin, who was only three years older than she. At age ten, the boy was mature beyond his years, his parents trusting him to handle himself, in fact, trusting him enough to take his younger sister along with himself and best friend Francis Sullivan into town for the celebration.

Taking a moment to rest, the trio seated themselves amongst the crowd near an old, run-down diner, Francis running a hand through lackluster blonde hair, pulling out a deck of cards, worn and faded though they were.

He quickly began to deal, watching Mara out of the corner of his eye, noting the hungry look on her face as she observed his fingers flying over the cards. That girl was in love with games of chance, and there was no denying it.

They played for the next ten minutes before Mara began complaining about wanting to sightsee instead. Martin hurriedly handed the cards back to Francis, grinning in triumph as he pulled one last card from the deck.

"I would've won anway," he chuckled, brandishing the card. "Ace of Spades. The Death Card."

And suddenly, he was no longer Martin, but a mouldering skeleton, the eyeless sockets gaping open like hell's maw. Mara screamed, falling backwards, only to find she was clutching at darkness.

Mask jerked fitfully, eyes wide upon yet not quite awake. Several hours had passed, leaving her to her thoughts, and the entire room had been plunged into darkness, the only noise being soft snores, heavy breathing and a few choice words spoken in dream. Turning her face to the wall beside her, the girl let her mind wander once more. 

_Heat. Flames everywhere. She couldn't see where she was going, and didn't really care anymore. The smoke had clouded her mind, removing all reason, all sense. Groping blindly, she staggered forwards and somehow managed to find the banister, the lovely, polished wooden banister._

What a waste_, she though numbly, even as her legs took her forwards. Walls of flame had sprung up everywhere, consuming the structure that had once been called home._

Mara stumbled off the last step, sprawling on the floor. Disoriented, she sat up, hearing a shriek from somewhere deeper inside the house. Turning, and only partly concious, the girl fumbled around, not really sure where she was going.

She had no idea how close the escape was, just metres before her, and was surprised when salvation came in the form of Mr. Sullivan.

He burst through the door, and in the back of her mind, Mara wasn't sure weather the flames that created a sort of aura around him made him look more angel or demon. The man reached down, yelling something undiscernable, and when Mara did nothing to move, he scooped her up, half dragging, half carrying her out the front door and onto the porch.

Suddenly, she could breath again. Dazed, she glanced upwards at the stars that surrounded her, and Martin's words came back.

Good men die, but life goes on...

The girl didn't realize what had just happened, couldn't comprehend it. All she knew was that there was whiskey on Mr. Sullivan's breath again, and that there were various people gathered round to watch the house smoulder. And the clang of firebells filled her ears.

Whiskey. He's always drinking, ever since his wife died,_ Mara thought, gazing blankly at Mr. Sullivan, who's hair, blonde as his son's caught the light from the fire. _He used to have it. Have it all. He beats his son every day, I heard...__

Her thoughts trailed off, not quite making sense, a blur of nothingness. She stared at the house, stared at the surrounding people, then, in a moment of madness, launched herself at the door, gaping open like hell's maw.

Somebody caught and held her, and the girl turned to find herself face to face with her lifelong companion, Francis. She gazed at him, eyes halfway between grief and insanity.

He gazed steadily back at her, and they communicated in silence. Finally, she let out a shriek, tears streaking her cheeks, struggling for all she was worth.

Struggling. Why? There was nothing that could be done.

And finally, she didn't even bother struggling. 

No one had taken her in. 

No one had wanted the reckless, carefree young girl, the one who had been labelled a troublemaker more than once. The people that had once called themselves "friends" turned their backs when tradgedy struck, and Mara had found herself in the care of the nuns of the local orphanage. Though the nuns did their best to prevent violence amongst their charges, such things were inevitable, and precious, cherished, little Mara Charlotte McKeary, loved by mother and father and brother alike, had soon trained herself in the ways of stealing what you needed if you couldn't get it by honest means, defending yourself in fistfights against children several times your age and height, and by the end of two weeks had learned every foul word ever spoken, using such language freely herself. 

As the years had worn on, life at the orphanage grew boring, and the old flame of adventure rekindled itself inside of her. She escaped the place in the dead of, night, following in the footsteps of so many others who had had enough of life as an orphan, hitching the first train out of Virginia and into New York City, an old, rickety vehicle that looked like it should be in a junkyard instead of the station.

_The sound of metal screeching on metal made Mara grimace, and she shifted uncomfortably from where she sat in the dark cargo hold of the train. So, New York City, Harlem at last!_

_Mara gathered her few possessions together, a single, lonely stowaway on a road she hadn't meant to take. Shouldering the tiny ruesack, the girl waited for the vehicle to come to a full stop, then rose, the flames of time and the physical flames dancing in the back of her mind, shoving back supressed emotions and images._

_And it's woiked so far,_ Mask thought almost viciously. 

Yes, it worked. But that didn't mean she liked the chain of events and circumstances that had brought her to her present state. 

As sleep took her once more, three faces flashed in her mind's eye: Spot Conlon, Gambler, and Crash, lying on the floor in a pool of her own lifeblood, leaking from a gash in her side.

Crash. Spot. Gambler. The faces presented themselves before her, speaking words she could not understand, a thousand emotions filling each, the visages mingling together, blending into one. Mask blinked back tears of frustration. Why the hell couldn't they just leave her alone?

Then, the rest of the night passed in sweet oblivion. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

It was crowded at the Distribution Center (as usual,) and the noise level was at an all time high. Mask elbowed her way through the sea of newsboys, wiping beads of sweat from her brow. Another night passing, another sweltering summer's day. 

Taking her place at the back of the line, the girl's irritation rose just another notch when she was joined by Snoddy. The Manhattan newsie grinned and elbowed her gently in the ribs. She winced and turned to glare at him. 

"So how's your night, Mask?" he inquired, not waiting for an answer. "Mine was pretty good. Slept undah a leaky roof, but once ya stick a pillow ovah your head, da water don't botha ya much." 

"Will ya shut up and leave me alone?" 

Snoddy was a bit taken aback by her sudden personality change. Laughing easily, he patted her on the back. "What happened to da smilin', cheerful goil I met da oddah night?" 

Mask bit her lip, realizing how she had let her defenses slip in that single moment. Slamming her sheilds back up, the girl turned on her heel, calling back over her shoulder, "If I was you, I wouldn't pry inta oddah people's poisonal history." 

"I wasn't pryin'...I wasn't even tawkin' about..." Snoddy cut himself off, completely bewildered. "Jeez." 

The Manhattan newsie stared blankly after the girl, amazed at how quickly she had turned herself into something of an engima. Another grand mood swing for her, he guessed. She had gone throug a rapid series of wariness, then friendly comradeship, then sheer hostility and back again. And all of it had been overlayed with a definite "feel" of arrogance. She was a newsie, like the rest of them, but she acted as though she were the Queen of England surrounded by lowly street trash.

Snoddy shrugged, shouldered his stack of papes and headed off towards his selling spot.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Mask set her stack of papers down on the boardwalk beside her, having found a good selling spot in front of a run-down old fruit vendor that appeared to be attracting a lot of customers. Grabbing a single pape, she waved it around in the air, first trying to attract attention through motion, then words. 

"EXTRA, EXTRA! Mayor's daughter runs off wit local bartender! Fam'ly scandalized!" She waited a few moments, then handed out papers and several innocent grins as several young ladies came rushing towards her, practically flinging their money into her palms. Thanking them each politely, she pocketed the cash, reflecting upon it. 

_Dis'll buy me lunch,_ she thought, trying not to crow with glee as her customer's increased. _And maybe even dinner._

As her customers dispersed, she thumbed through the various articles, found one that caught her eye and began hawking a very different headline. 

"Read all about it! Foreman of local factory killed in mysterious fire! Arson suspected!"

_Deah God, who rights dese headline? Man's bowtie gets stuck while tryin' ta fix da furnace? Shoah, it adds 'resultin' in injury,' but who wawnts ta read about dat? Throw in a good criminal or two, an' it makes it a helluva lot more interesting._

A young, well-dressed man stopped by, giving her a friendly wink and a smile, handed her the cash then took a pape.

"Mayor's daughter sure dissapointed a lot of admiring male fans," he laughed. Distracted, Mask looked up and gave a halfhearted chuckle, nodding in agreement, nearly choking when she saw the knowing look in his eye.

_Is he on ta my scam?_

No.

The man opened the newspaper, and nose buried in it, began walking away. Mask breathed a sigh of relief, then cleared her throat and continued the day's work.

"EXTRA, EXTRA! Arson suspected in..."

_Flames. Heat. Terror. The perfect element for any horror writers story._

_But this was no story, this was reality, and it wasn't something Mara was reading about in the papers. This was here, now and happening to her._

_The girl thought she heard a screech, perhaps her mother's coming from within the burning home, but who could tell?_

_Chaos. Anarchy. Terror._

_Screams. Horrified cries. Spellbound watchers. Terror._

_Voices. A howl of a wolf somewhere from deep in the hills. Orders being rapped out. Terror._

_Chaos._

_Anarchy._

_Death._

_And more terror._

The flashback released Mask, and she stood stock still, dropping the pape she held in her hand, feeling as though her legs would give out any minute. Not bothering to gather up the stack of wares lying on the ground, she made her way over to a bunch of worn crates and barrels sitting in the shade of a nearby building and seated herself. 

Racetrack coughed, the noise coming from only several feet beside her, and she jerked, losing her balance and falling to the pavement below. Turning, she glared up at him, perched nonchalantly on his seat.

"What da hell were ya doin', sittin' dere spying on me?" 

"Spyin' on ya? My deah guest, I believe dat dis is in invasion of my privacy, not da odder wya around. Ya see, dis is me sellin' spot."

Mask didn't look the least bit apologetic. The girl tossed her hair with a deft flick of her head, her eyes regarding him coldly.

"You nevah claimed it, _Racetrack_," she replied, drawing his name out. Race glared, leaped off the crates in one fluid motion and drew himself up to his full height, staring Mask directly in the eye.

"Hey, look. I'se been sellin' papes heah for as long as I can remembah. Dat's da foist t'ing. Second, I don't like yer attitude. Ya act like ya own da place when you're only a guest."

She sneered. "Yeah? Well, I don't like your's, either."

The duo stood staring at each other, challenging the other to make the first move, to begin a fight. Mask wasn't about to start one, but she wasn't about to back down, either. It would have gone on forever had Race not given a wry chuckle and nodded, gathering up his papes.

"Get outta heah, or I might halfta soak ya."

Mask allowed a smirk to creep over her face. "I'd like ta see ya try."

Then, she was gone, pride smarting at having been the first to back down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Mask felt lances of guilt stabbing through her like knives as she headed off towards Tibby's, ready to take a break. She had snapped at the two people who had offered her hospitality, friendship and shelter, and all in one morning. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, loosing what was left of her already-dissheveled braid. With a grunt of effort, she somehow managed to open the door to the diner and find a seat. 

_Great. Dere goes da last of me energy._

Mask called the waiter over and ordered nothing but a cup of coffee. He looked the exauhsted girl over and gave a knowing grin and a friendly wink. 

"Hard day?" 

"Yeah. Jus' get me da drink." 

"Sure." 

"Hard day?" 

Mask grimaced as the question repeated herself, and turned to find herself twin pools of brown. Snoddy smiled. 

The Harlem newsie fought back the urge to tell him off, giving a slight nod and grin in reply. "Yeah. But I'm still alive." 

"Guess dat's da entire point." 

Leaving his seat, he slid silently into the booth in front of Mask and leaned forwards. "So what exactly were ya doin' out dere, outta Harlem, out in da gutter in da middle of a rainstorm?" 

"Runnin'." 

"I could see dat," Snoddy replied, rolling his eyes. "Why?" 

Mask gave a strange laugh and shook her head. "Moment of sheer insanity. I have dose sometimes. Anyway, I was gonna ask ya somethin'." 

"Fire away." 

"Ya know wheah Irving Hall is?" 

"Is Spot Conlon still hoitin' from Key leavin' him? A' course!" 

A strange expression crossed the girl's face at the mention of the Brooklyn leader's name, something inbetween shock and agony. She shook it off quickly, covering whatever had struck her with a laugh that was meant to be an easy one, but came out harsh with bitterness. 

Snoddy gave her an inquisitive glance, but went on. 

"It's jus' two blocks south a' heah. Why'jda ask? Ya know Medda Larkson or somethin'?" 

"Yeah," she replied, wrapping her hands around her coffee cup. "Not shoah if she still remember's me," Mask said, her voice rich with sarcasm. 

"I see why dey calls ya Mask," Snoddy observed. "You're an..." he groped for the word, "...enigma." 

"A wha'?..." 

"A mystery," he explained rather bluntly. Mask bristled defensively. 

She lifted her chin, the very image of defiance. "I don't t'ink trash like you should have da right ta judge others like dat," she snapped with all the haughtiness and pride of a noble lady. Snoddy was stung by the words, and wondered, _Who da hell is dis goil?_ feeling more stung than angry.

He didn't have time to ask any further questions however, becauase at that very moment, the door was flung open, and Swifty and Boots entered, playing keep-away with an indignant Itey's hat. Mask's harsh words were almost forgotten, and a grin spread across snoddy's face.

Another day in the life of a newsboy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. But, true to her nature, she wasn't about to take them back once they had been said.

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, and her eyes settled on Jack Kelly, who had just entered and seated himself several tables away from her.

And something stirred in the back of her mind. An image flashed in her mind's eye: a boy, awkward, hands and feet seemingly too big for his body, but promising height in later years. Eyes an explosion of brown and gold, like autumn leaves, warm and affectionate.

Shaking it off, she was brought back to reality by the look on Jack's face: hard, unforgiving, features that screamed 'survivor.'

_Francis Sullivan? One and da same wit Jack Kelly? I t'ink not,_ she pondered, fighting back the urge to scoff aloud. No way the gawky, insecure little boy could be Manhattan's leader.

Rising, the girl tramped over to where his spot and slid into the chari in front of him, smiling, even though she felt as though the courage she had just worked up would very soon turn to mush.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Heya Cowboy," she greeted him, sliding into the bench in from the Manhattan newsie. "How's da headline taday?" 

Jack's grin was filled with malice as he spoke the saying that had been repeated for so long, it drove many of his friend out of their minds. 

"Headlines don't sell papes-" 

"Can it!" Mush and Blink yelled in unison as they entered the diner. Grinning and throwing banter back and forth, they quickly joined in the game of keep away. Itey finally managed to retrieve his hat, only to find the pile of coins he had laid down on the table (unwittingly) vanished. They would come back to him sooner or later; stealing was unheard of amongst the newsies. But it was annoying, and Boots grinning innocently, knew this full well. 

Mask shook her head, vaguely annoyed at being interupted. Turning back to Jack, she gave a wan smile. "So, I hoid you'se goin' ta Brooklyn taday. Mettin' wit Spot." 

Jack very visibly jerked in surprise. "How'dja know?" 

"Dat's my liddle secret," she replied casually. "So who ya takin' wit ya?" 

"What's it ya you?" 

"A lot, Kelly. Trust me, a lot." 

Jack's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I see your game. You want me ta ya along for da ride, don'tcha?" 

"Got dat right." 

"I'd be willing ta take ya...for a price." 

"Name it." 

Jack paused, then sighed and shook his head. "Lissen. What I'se sayin' is dat I ain't takin' ya inta Brooklyn witout an explanation. Shoah, dey got goil newsies dere, but it ain't safe. It...well, it just ain't safe." 

Mask seemed to hesitate. Leaning forwards, she lowered her voice. "Listen," she hissed fiercely, "I ain't tellin' ya nothin'. You jist take me ta Brooklyn wit ya, and let me take care of my own business."

Jack sat up a bit straighter, looking her squarely in the eye. "I am _not_ takin' ya dere witout good reason."

Mask stared at him for a moment, then decided it was pointless trying to argue. Rising, she gestured towards the door. "Awright. I'll tell ya," she said flatly. "But you're a dead man, Cowboy, if ya breathes a woid ta anyone."

The boy sensed the urgency in her voice, and followed his guest out the door and into the glaring afternoon sunlight. He sheilding his eyes with a hand as some of the beams lanced into his face. Squinting, he cleared his throat significantly. 

"Awright goil, you'se got some explainin' ta do. Lemee give it to ya straight: I'se suspected dere was somethin' more ta you da second ya walked inta da room. I see I was right." 

Mask pulled a cigarette from her pocket, followed very quickly by a match, and leaned against the wall, lightening the object. She was about to take a long drag when she reconsidered and threw it down, mumbling something. 

"Ya evah hoid of da Key of Brooklyn?" 

Jack gaped in disbelief. "Yeah...I...sorry for lookin' so surprised, it's just dat nobody evah mentions her name ta any of da newsie leaders, most especially Spot." His expression turned brooding. "She's ancient history. Left him years ago. Toined da tables on him, I guess ya could say, seein' dat he's usually da one dat ends up breakin' hearts. Ah well, it would've happened sooner or later. Besides, what's she gotta do wit dis? She left New Yawk a long time ago." 

Mask ran a weary hand over her face. "Naw, she's heah awright," the girl replied with more than a hint of irony in her voice. "Ya evah hoid da story of how da Key of Brooklyn became da Mask of Harlem?" 

Had Jack's jaw dropped any further, he would most likely have had problem tripping over it. Mask couldn't help put notice how he resembled a dying fish, with the way his mouth was hanging open. 

Then, the Manhattan leader seemed to get ahold of himself. Closing his mouth, his gaze narrowed once more. "Lotsa people claim ta be da Key. How do I know you ain't just one of dose goils tryin' ta make a name for herself?" 

At this point, Mask looked a lot more than vaguely annoyed. Placing a hand down her collar, she withdrew a metallic object dangling on the end of a worn string. It was a brass key, slightly tarnished, a streak of silver running down one side: undeniably Spot's trademark. 

Jack's breath caught in his throat, and he fought down the urge to began babbling, not quite sure how to treat the girl now that she knew exactly who she was. To cover his surprise, he merely gave a slight, almost undiscernable nod and patted her heavily upon the shoulder. She shrugged off his hands and turned away. It scared him, how she had related the entire thing to him with so much control, so much harshness, ruthlessness. 

"Okay. You'se comin' wit us. Get to da Lodgin' House, get some rest. Ya got half an hour," he said brusquely. 

Mask nodded, tucked the key back into her shirt and took off down the streets of Manhattan. Jack watched her go, giving himself a mental slap on both cheeks. 

_I think I just made da mistake of a lifetime,_ he mused. _But I knew dere was somethin' strange about her. Guess dat's what dey calls 'seein' beyond illusion.' And she presents a damn good illusion, too._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The Brooklyn Bridge. 

It loomed up, dwarfing all of its surroundings, just as forbidding as the boy who took one of his many nicknames from it. Mask stared up at it, trying to stop her hand from shaking by clenching them into tight fists, all to no avail. In a facade of bravado, the girl sauntered onto the gigantic structure, followed closely by Jack, who was accompanied by Blink, Dutchy, Snoddy and very apprehensive Skittery.

A chill wind blew in from the east, teasing hair and making each of them shiver. But the physical cold gladdened Mask's heart, giving her something other to think about than the confrontation she knew was to come.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned her face to the breeze, enjoying the way it slid over her flesh, calming her ever so slightly. She turned as a hand grasped her shoulder, finding herself gazing into Jack Kelly's hazel eyes. His expression was one of pure concern.

"Mask," he began, lowering his voice, "I don't know exactly why ya wanna see Spot Conlon, but I _do_ know you're real noivous. Maybe tellin' me what you're gonna tell him would help a bit?"

"T'anks for da sympathy, Cowboy," she replied coldly, brushing his hand off, "but dat's one thing I could do witout."

Jack didn't get angry with her, just nodded his acceptance and stepped back, leaving Mask with a very bitter taste in her mouth. She swallowed hard, trying to wash it away, but persisted, turning into a throbbing headache much to her dismay.

_T'ings weren't always like dis,_ she pondered. _Circumstances change. I'se real sorry Spot,_ she thought, hardening herself once more, _but dis has ta be done, even if it costs you your pride. An' me a good soakin'; at least dat's what I'se expectin'._

A dash of frigid water soaked Mask's shirt, and she turned, giving an involuntary gasp at the iciness of the liquid. Blink stood there, lopsided grni pasted onto his face, hand dripping wet from the bucket of old laundry wwater somebody had left out. The boy jerked his head towards Snoddy.

"Hey, he dared me to!"

She was on the unfortunate Kid Blink within seconds. He managed to dodge as she swung at him, but wasn't as lucky the second time around. The girl snatched his hat off his head, took it and ran, Blink's indignant cries and loud footfalls echoing behind her.

Jack rolled his eyes at the display of immaturity, then joined Blink, racing after Mask in the quest for the hat that had momentarily become the Holy Grail. The girl charged ahead, irripressable grni spreading across her face, hat clutched tightly in one hand.

Jack, with the advantage of longer legs managed to catch up with her, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her into the air, kicking, yelling and struggling. Snoddy observed the chaos he had sparked with a smiling eye.

Mask wasn't through yet, though. Raising Blink's hat high above her head, she dangled it over the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge. Without looking at him, she addressed Jack.

"Drop me. Properly."

He set her down, wondering what it was that she had in mind. Mask gave the cap a slight shake, turning to Blink. "All right, I demand an apology."

"Sorry," he grinned insolently, sounding anything but apologetic. mask shook her head and pointed at the pavement below.

"Not good enough. Down on your knees, fold your hands, an' gimee a proper apology."

Blink, looking rather uncertain went down on bended knees, clasped his hands in front of him and began what would have gone down in newsie history as the most shameless speech ever made, a nearly successful attempt at turning the tables on Mask.

"My _deah lady_," he began, and her expression turned from one of triumph to one of annoyance. "I'se real sorry for soakin' ya...physically. An' speakin' a' physical..."

Dutchy leaped forwards, snatched the cap out of Mask's hand and stuffed it halfway into Blink's mouth, eyeing the scenario with great approval.

"Look's bettah dere," he nodded. "An' it actually fits. Jus' goes ta show what a large mouth dis guy has."

Blink indignantly removed the hat from his mouth, looking it over in disgust.

"Hey, it's your spit," Mask pointed out.

"Nah, it ain't dat. Jus' da fact dat ya touched it..."

Mask threw a playful punch at him, and found herself being picked up and toted off over Jack Kelly's shoulder for the second time that day. "We ain't got forevah," he pointed out matter-offactly, "an' you two are gonna continue to flirt if I don't do somethin' about it!"

Snoddy watched from where he stood behind Dutchy and Skittery as Blink made some sort of remark that sent Mask into fits of laughter, pure, genuine laughter, not the hard-edged bitter sound he had heard before. And he found himself pushing back just a twinge of jealousy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask darted ahead of the main group, ignoring whatever it was Jack was saying. Revenge, even if it was in fun, was sweet as honey and satisfying as a long kiss.

Blink hurtled past yet another store, Jack's cries ringing in his ears. Glancing around, he thought he saw a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, but brushed it off. The streets of Brooklyn were just as crowded as Manhattan.

The newsboy shoved his way through the sea of people, and found to his dismay that he had been ambushed. From a rooftop above, a stream of frigid water spilled forth from a wooden bucket, drenching him. Spluttering on the liquid that had entered his mouth, he wiped his eyes and looked up, vision clearing.

Mask leaned over a nearby rooftop, arms folded casually over her chest, unable to stop a broad grin. Straightening herself, the girl clambered down the set of iron stairs, bringing herself face-to-face with Blink.

"I always get my revenge," she laughed. Blink, lost for words would have most likely continued the chase, but Jack's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Blink, Mask, it's been fun," Cowboy told them, trying to keep a straight face, "but we'se gettin' closah to da pier. Behave yourselves."

"Yes, Papa," Mask replied mirthlessly, the sparkle of good humor leaving her eyes. Jamming her hands deep into her pockets, she fell back a little, leaving Blink to converse with his leader, ignoring the banter going on between Dutchy and Skittery, and finding herself side by side with Snoddy, who appeared to be deep in thought. She gave him a playful poke, and he jerked visibly and glanced up.

"Oh, heya Mask," he greeted her, looking not quite with it. His shoes scuffed the pavement as he walked, and when he raised his eyes, he found himself lost in twin pools of green. She didn't apologize for her previous harsh words, it wasn't in her nature; but her eyes said it all.

"Hey, why're ya lookin' glum?" the girl inquired. "I'se da one dat should be...well, I mean, ya know. Goin' ta Brooklyn an' all."

Snoddy glanced at her in a sideways manner and allowed a gentle smile to play on his lips. "Had a bit too much coffee dis mornin' or somethin'? Jeez goil, you'se can _run_."

Mask laughed and shook her head. "Naw. 'S jus' da fact dat when coiten people accept stupid dares from deir friends, an' when dose dares wind up affectin' me...well, let's jus' say I don't allow dat ta slip by unnoticed."

Snoddy was silent for a moment, then apparently decided to change the subject. "So why'dja decide ta come wit us ta Brooklyn anyway? Jack awready had his 'show of power,' me, Skittery, Blink...not dat you're not a welcome addition. It's just...well, no one _volunteers_ ta jus' walk inta Brooklyn."

Mask gave a nevous laugh. "Well, I'se different from everybody else, I guess. Always have been..."

She stopped short as her lashes lifted, exposing her eyes to the sight before her:

The piers. Swarming with what she knew were Brooklyn newsies, her previous 'family.'

Her legs wanted to give, way, her heart wanted to stop right where it was, but somehow, she forced herself to move forwards, trailing behind all the rest, but keeping Snoddy's back in close view. The girl fought back the urge to find the nearest sack and draw it over her head, painfully aware of the silence that fell over the place on sight of her.

_Oh God. Dis is just what I needs..._

Jack suddenly wheeled around, bringing himself to the rear of the small troupe. He laid a steady hand on Mask's shoulder, and the Harlem newsie didn't even bother shrugging it off this time.

"Mask, it ain't too late for you ta back out," he muttered urgently. "You're stayin' in Manhattan, dat would make you my responsibility. I don't want trouble wit Spot."

She laughed softly, trying to sound reassuring, and failing. "Trust me, Cowboy, dis'll be quick. Very quick."

_I hope,_ she mused. _I really, really, really hope. Jeez, dis is no way ta spend da afternoon..._

She didn't have time to think anymore. As Mask's gaze lifted, she found herself face to face with a gigantic piece of her past: Spot Conlon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He was just as she remembered him from years ago: the same dark, fine hair, the same slight frame, the same blue green eyes that flashed fire even as a shocked expression replaced the standard all-knowing one. Mask jumped involuntarily as his gaze locked with her's, and very shamelssly turned her head at an angle so that her eyes were hidden by Skittery's shoulder. The Brooklyn leader's voice was devoid of all expression as he called her over, acting as though the rest of the company were invisible.

"Okay, Key, out wit it," he stated, voice harsh with control. "Whaddaya doin' back heah?"

Mask, blood rising to her cheeks, summoned up what little courage she had left and stepped into full view. All eyes were on the pair, and the girl suddenly felt as though a bright light had been cast upon her. She caught a glimmer of hope in Spot's eyes, and nearly weakened, but found her composure once more.

"Spot," she greeted, not bothering to exchange the traditional spitshake. "Long time no see."

Spot looked uncertain, then gave her a small, lopsided smile. His expression turned gentle and indulgent. Mask awkwardly returned his embrace, then stepped back.

"Jeez, it's good ta see ya again," she informed the Brooklyn leader, smiling softly. Spot appeared as though he were about to something, but allowed her to cut him off with an upraised hand. "Hand on a second, Conlon," she said, hardening herself once more. "I didn't come heah ta trade romance wit ya. I'se heah because dere's somethin' I needs ta return."

Spot kept his face carefully expressionless, even as she withdrew the tarnished key from her neck and tossed it towards him with a deft flip of her hand. He didn't bother catching it, merely letting it drop at his feet and giving a nod of acceptance before retreiving it.

_He even knows how ta _withdraw_ wit dignity,_ Mask pondered, finding a ray of amusement in an otherwise dark situation.

The pair stared at each other, a chill breeze toying with hair, tickling flesh and making each one shiver. A lifetime of memories shared came rushing back, though no words were spoken, and Mask turned away before the first tear could roll down her cheek, hurrying back down the pier.

Jack caught up to her, keeping pace by jogging. He laid a protective arm around her shoulder, eyes glinting with concern. The Manhattan leader had never had to deal with coaching 'his' newsies through depressed stages after they had broken up with various girls, and he hoped he wouldn't have a situation so extreme suiddenyl thrust at him. He managed to stammer a few words out.

"Dat...dat's it?"

Mask turned her gaze towards him, expression totally unreadable.

"Yeah. Dat's it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It would be an understatement to say that the next week was rather subdued. Rumor spread like wildfire, speculations, opinions, theories about a girl named Mask, one who had shown up on the darkest, stormiest night of the year, claiming she was from Harlem, then revealing that she had roots in Brooklyn as well as close connections to Spot Conlon.

Mask herself as very well aware of this, but tried her best to ignore it, fighting back the urge to soak the people she caught talking about her behind her back. The girl couldn't return to Harlem, couldn't run to Brooklyn, or any of the other places in New York for that matter. In her short life as a newsie, she had left quite a reputation behind, as Key, as Blade, as Scrap, as Wave, and now as Mask. Manhattan was her best bet.

Kicking her shoes off, the girl allowed her legs and feet to dangle over the edge of the wooden boards of Manhattan's harbor. The night was a relief from the sweltering summer's day, and these were one of the few moments of privacy she got to herself. It had been two weeks since she'd arrived here, and it had been very quickly brought to her attention that amongst these newsies, there was no 'I'. One person's problems belonged to everyone, and that didn't fly very well for the normally secretive Mask.

_One poison's problems are everyone's. Distributing da load._ She snorted in derision. Everybody already had enough problems. Why would they want to handle somebody else's?

Chucking a pebble into the still surface of the waters, she was startled when a reflection appeared before her. When she finally recognized the figure, she didn't even bother turning around, allowing Snoddy to seat himself beside her.

"Heya Mask. Somethin' wrong? You'se lookin' real down."

She bristled at his attempts to see if he could offer a shoulder, but tried not to show it. Instead, she shook her head and began paying rapt attention to her toes.

"Naw. I'se just thinkin'...I do dat sometimes, ya know," she added wryly. Snoddy grinned.

"Maybe Mush an' Race should take some thinkin' lessons from you, then," he quipped. "Mush needs ta loin how ta keep from gettin' ripped off so frequently, and Race needs ta discover what 'shuttin' up' means."

"Very observant, aren'tcha? Anyway," she sighed, getting up, "I'll head back ta da Lodgin' House now. Finished sellin' me papes earlier. See ya dere."

Snoddy's hand caught her arm in a gentle grasp, and she turned, surprised. It had been established that she didn't like physical touch, and since the incident at the harbor in Brooklyn, nobody had dared come near her.

"Yeah?" she asked brusquely.

"Mask, siddown. Dere's somethin' I..." he released her arm and ran a hand through his har, "...I gots ta tell ya."

Curious, the girl plunked herself back down upon the wooden planks and began listening intently. At this point, Snoddy was the very definition of discomofort- his normally easygoing manner had fled from him, and his posture indicated that he expected a large hunk of metal to hurtle out of the sky any second and crush him. A chill wind whipped the once-still air, the merry whistling the only sound breaking the silence.

"Look, I uh..." he hesitated, the silence stretching into eternity. "I jus' wanted ta say dat, well, you'se only been heah a couple a' weeks, but I just had ta say..."

Mask had to smile at the soft, brown eyes that probed her for some sign, and she knew exactly what he was trying to tell her.

"I'se jus' gonna say dat..." she raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Something seemed to make up his mind, and he leaned back, gazing skywards. "Dat it's a lovely night, don't you t'ink so?"

She laughed and slipped a hand into his. He looked surprised, but didn't protest. Turning her gaze heavenwards, she raised a finger. "See dat group of stars? Dat would be Ursa Minor. Where da North Star is."

Snoddy squinted, then, recognition seemed to dawn upon him, and he nodded knowingly. "Who taught ya dat?"

"Someone," she replied bluntly, and seemed to realize for the first time her hand wrapped up in his. The girl blushed self-conciously, but did nothing to disentangle the fingers.

"So who are you?" Snoddy asked. The question was spoken softly, but it struck like a thunderbolt. Mask gave a nervous laugh.

"You know dat poifectly well," she answered. Snoddy shook his head.

"You can call yourself whatcha like, Key, Mask, it don't mattah. But _who are you_? Da poison Mask?"

The girl expected to feel anger under such scrutiny, but felt only weariness. "I can't tell ya dat. Not now I can't," she sighed, reaching over and undoing her braid, letting raven hair fly free in the night breeze.

"Dat's okay," he replied understandingly. "You'll tell when you're ready. But goin' back ta what I wanted ta say..."

He trailed off, leaned forwards and brushed his lips against her's. Mask pulled back for just a second, then found herself returning the gesture with even more zeal than he. The girl allowed Snoddy's arms to wrap around her torso, enjoying the warmth and strength they contained. The web woven of light and shadow above was the only witness to the pair below, watching with twinkling eyes as the world stopped spinning for the two, frozen in the age-old embrace of lovers past.

Mask finally broke away, gasping for air, a grin of contentment pasted onto her features. Leaning back, she allowed her back to rest against Snoddy's chest, letting his arms vanquish the chill that she felt. And suddenly, through the security she felt, a wave of anxiety came slamming down upon her, making her break free of his grasp and find her feet once more.

Snoddy turned startled eyes on her. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Naw...nothin'..." she paused, "...nothin' at all."

And she settled back into his embrace, brushing the disturbing flashback off, a single phrase flashing across her mind:

_"...and let the stars stand as witness..."_

Somebody had said that before, an important person in her life. She couldn't remember, and didn't have time to delve into her memories, as Sleep took her, making her lashes fall over green eyes, slipping into oblivion with the sound of waves crashing on shore after a long journey.


	2. Shadow Play

Past Illusion: Shadow Play 

_"You are in a pitiable condition  
if you conceal what you wish  
to tell."_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When we try to erase past events, figures in our lives, we know, in the back of our minds that it is futile. Although you can't make these things vanish, you can come to accept and recover from them, and not let them stop you from living the life Mother Fate and Sister Destiny planned for you long ago.

For Mask, set in her ways, narrow-minded and stubborn at times, learning this came the hard way, one resplendant winter's afternoon when Manhattan lay under a blanket of shimmering snow.

An entire month had come and gone since her arrival here, and much to her surprise, she had found herself forming bonds of affection with the people she now considered 'her' newsboys. They'd become more than just acquaintances to her, they had taken the role of friends, confidents, brothers, fathers all in one. And for the first time in her life, she finally felt as though she belonged somewhere.

_But there are other things, too_ she thought grimly, even as the girl grasped her papes under her arm and, shivering against the cold, tramped out to her usual selling spot. _I ain't told dem everythin'...dey don't who I am. Shoah, dey understand I'se Key, but dey don't know da poison, Mara Charlotte Delancey. I don't t'ink I do, either._

She sighed, not exactly looking forwards to another day of busting her throat while screeching out various headlines. Although she was grateful she had one, life wasn't perfect. In fact, it was far from peaceful. A turbulance was brewing, and she could sense it.

_Blink. Snoddy. da two guys causin' me and each other problems._

over the course of a month, Kid Blink had been getting more and more pushy with his affection towards her. So far, she had identified he and Mush as the two boys who had turned flirting into an art. But where Mush was more subtle, the one prone to spewing romantic innuendos, Blink was the one who was most likely to take the flirting to another level, using a more direct approach.

And that didn't fly well with Snoddy.

_Jeez. It was just one kiss, an' we didn't do anythin' dat night othah than fall asleep togeddah. So why do I feel so obligated ta him?_

After that one incident, Snoddy had been getting more and more possessive, bristling in defense whenever he thought one of his friends was taking the 'physical touch' a bit too far.

_And as for da relashionship between Blink an' Snoddy..._

Mask didn't even want to get into that. It had become a tangled web between the two of them, arguing over just who's girl she was. And Mask, in turn, let them argue, not really caring who came out as the victor. She decided her own future, planned her own destiny, which included choosing the boy she would claim as her's.

The girl had to admit, however, that it was partially her fault. In another stroke of brutal honesty with herself, Mask silently and very grudgingly admitted that she had been enjoying the afttention. It had fed her iripressable vanity for a while, and she had worked it, stirred the fire more than she needed.

_Enough thinkin'. It won't earn you lunch money._

The girl grabbed a pape and began waving it back and forth, more out of habit than anything else.

"EXTRA, EXTRA! Read all about it! Foriegn Duchess visitin' New Yawk beaten ta death in park! Foreman of local factory suposedly respon'sble for crime!"

It was a far cry from what the actual headline said, but it was better than nothing. It was no foreign duchess that had been beaten to death, but the mayor's wife, robbed of some of her most valuable jewellry. Sure, some might want to read that story, but why not spice it up when the opportunity arose?

A young woman and older man paused at her selling spot, handed her a few coins and took the papers. That was expected.

What wasn't expected was Jake, tearing around the corner and slamming straight into her, bringing them both to the ground, Oscar and Morris hot on his heels, both looking mad enough to kill.

Mask struggled to her feet once more, then threw a confused glance first at Jake, then at both the Delancey brothers. Panting, Jake scrambled to get uponce more, then hurtled off down the street.

Mask wasn't quite sure what exactly he had done to anger the two this time, but knew well enough to provide a distraction. She stepped out in front of them, muscles tensed, ready to run if need be. Agility, not strength, as she had so long ago figured out.

Oscar skidded to a halt, which brought Morris to one as well, looking almost comical. Crossing her arms over her chest, Mask gave a halfhearted smile.

"Hey dere, ugly," she smiled. "'What'd he do dis time? Insult the intelligence dat ain't even dere?"

Morris snarled, shoving past his brother and leaping at Mask. She sidestepped him, watching in satisfaction as he fell to the pavement below, giving a yelp of pain as he landed chin first. Oscar hesitated for just a second, then lunged at the girl, only to find she had and her papes had somehow vanished into thin air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask laughed to herself as she headed off towards Itey's selling spot. He had apparently caught a very bad cold, but refused to let that stop him from selling. Not really in a big rush to get rid of all of her wares, Mask thought she might as well keep him company.

Her feet left imprints in the now slushy, brownish-black snow, which she knew very well would soon turn white once more when the next round of flakes fell to the ground. Slender fingers grasped her suspendors; a habit she had picked up while in Manhattan.

Rounding yet another corner, she was dismayed to find it was not Itey standing there, hawking the headline, but Kid Blink. She had been trying to avoid both him and Snoddy for the past few days. It would be rude to turn back now; he had already caugth sight of her, so she stammered an uncertain hello.

To her surprise, Blink, who had been in a rather dark, contemplative mood for the past few days greeted her warmly. She took a seat on an old, worn crate several feet behind him.

"Heya, Blink. Whatcha doin' in Itey's sellin' spot? T'ought you sold wit Ractrack down at Central Park."

He grinned. "I needed a...change of scenery, so I tawked wit him a bit, and we wound up doin' a trade."

Mask blanched. "Race and Itey? Togeddah? I feel sorry for da poor people dey rip off as of today. I mean, what wit Race bein' Race and all, and Itey bein' an ex pick-pocket."

"Naw. Don't worry. Dey won't try anythin'," he smiled, giving a good-natured laugh. "Unless dey fail ta sell all of deir papes and are desperate for a coin or two."

"Hey," Mask asked, suddenly curious, "what did Jake do dat made da Delancey brudders so angry? Dey was chasin' him, chased 'im all da way down ta my sellin' spot."

Blink let out a snort and shook his head. "I dunno. Jake's just as bad as Pie, and aftah his foist meetin' wit da Delancey brudders...well, let's jus' say dey soaked 'im good. A normal poison would've kept clear of dem after, but not Jake. He made it a point to get payback for dat...as much as possible."

Mask laughed. "Yeah, dat sounds like Jake. Quiet guy. Likes readin'. But don't make 'im mad, or else."

Blink gave a distracted nod of agreement, then cleared his throat. "Man gunned down in Central Park! Corpse found nude and decapitated! Read all about it!"

Mask shook her head. "Wheah da hell do ya come up wit all dose gruesome headlines?"

"My deah la-"

"Shaddup."

Blink grinned charmingly. "My deah _Mask_, you're dealin' wit Kid Blink heah, master of creativity."

Mask reclined on her makeshift seat and listened to Blink yelling the latest news, hot of presses. She studied and observed the people that came and went, and marvelled at society, a rich fabric woven together of many strands.

Finally, when Blink had come down to half the stack, he turned to her.

"Hey, uh, Mask, some guy was just heah lookin' for ya. Didn't get a name, but I can give ya a pretty good description of him."

Curiosity peaked, Mask listened intently.

"Tall guy...not as tall as Jack, but pretty close. Doity-blonde hair, checkered vest, kinda like Race's, blue eyes."

The blood seemed to drain from Mask's face. She stumbled off the crate on unsteady legs, not really hearing Blink's concerned voice asking if she was all right. Righting herself, she locked gazes with the Manhattan newsboy, eyes blazing.

"His eyes...blue...were dey by any chance rimmed wit a kinda...a kinda yellowish color? Almost gold."

Blink paused to think, then shook his head. "Sorry, I can't remembah. But...who is he?"

Mask mumbled something undiscernable, then gathered her papers up and began wandering off in the general direction of Tibby's, not giving even a single backwards glance.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Gambler. Here. In Manhattan. Oh. My. God._

Mask tried to calm herself, telling herself that perhaps it wasn't Gambler, but some other newsboy who had mistaken her for...

_What a pathetic excuse,_ she told herself, _Da clothes. Da eyes. Da hair. It all fits. But what does he want wit me? I gave him enough,_ she thought bitterly, _even if it wasn't willingly._

Inwardly screaming in protest, the girl was helpless against the flood of memories that invaded her, helpless as her mind dragged her back to another time, another place...

_"Yeah, I know. Da sunset's real beautiful, Gambler, but if dat's what ya want, forget it."_

Mask stood, arms folded just outside the abandoned warehouse that the Harlem newsies called home. Gambler stood before her, an entire head taller, looking furious at the rejection.

"Jeez, Mask, whaddaya want? I thought you'd jump at da offah ta spend da night wit me."

Mask scoffed and then allowed a smirk to make a place for itself on her sharp, angular features. "If ya t'inks I'se dat easy, you're wrong. Just 'cause I'se your goil don't mean I'se ready ta sleep wit ya."

Gambler was the picture of rage. Grabbing her arm, he forced her agaisnt a nearby wall. The girl's hand automatically flew to her left pocket, where the brass knuckles were contained, but he managed to catch her wrist before she could get any further, his grip making her wince.

"I don't t'ink so," he hissed, then gave her a genial smile. "I gave you a chance ta consent. Now I'se gettin' what I wants, at your displeasure."

She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but even Mask had to admit, when it came to a contest of strength, she hadn't a prayer.

The girl yelped as he thrust her into the alleyway that made a place for itself between the warehouse and the shop next to it. Pitting herself against him, she fought for all she was worth, going in tooth and nail with a power that could only be bornof desperation.

Finally, Mask succumbed to his fists and iron grip, not even able to scream as he dragged her further in.

Mask shook herself out of her reverie, finding she could walk no further. Exauhsted, though she was not quite sure why, she leaned against a nearby lampost, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal, biting her lip savagely enough that she drew a few drops of blood.

"Mask? You okay?"

The girl turned at the sound of Snoddy's voice, and found herself wanted to run straight into his arms, shrieking out all her insecurities, sobbing out all her cares. Pride wouldn't allow that. Instead, she pulled herself together and gave a wan, uncertain smile, nodding.

"You go ahead ta Tibby's. Get your lunch. I'll be dere."

He gave the girl a doubtful glance, then went on his way, throwing several concerned looks over his shoulder.

_Jeez, it's cold out heah. Wish I'd brought a jacket or somethin'. Only I don't have one._

But the biting wind and blinding snow could not add up to the cold she felt inside. Wrapping both arms around herself, she sighed. Summer in New York City was an oven, winter was the far North.

Suddenly, a thought struck her like a lightening bolt.

_My papes! I left 'em at Blink's sellin' spot._

The girl turned back, spitting out curses that would have put even Skittery to shame. Ironically, the boy who was capable of forming beautiful nets made of words was also capable of making you believe he had been raised in a gutter. He hadn't been able to outdo Mask, however.

The newsie began adding rants to the curses as the wind increased, driving snow into her eyes. Now, she was groping blindly, and would have been lost had she not taken the time to learn the ways and wiles of the city, inside out.

She made it to Blink's selling spot, to find the boy packing it in and heading for Tibby's, claiming nobody should have to sell in weather like this. mask found her papes where she had left them, and together, the duo struck off towards the diner.

They finally made it, each breathing sighs of relief at the warmth that suddenly filled the air. Mask took a seat in front of Jack and beside Crutchy, allowing her feet to stray onto the tabletop.

Just as she had made herself comfortable, the door flew open once more, allowing gusts of wind and plumes of snow into the place, much to the waiters' chagrin. Racetrack stumbled in, and Itey followed, giving hacking, wrenching coughs that could not possibly be fake.

Mask glanced at him in concern. "Heya, Itey. Toldja ya shouldn't sell taday. Your cold's gettin' worse."

Itey said nothing, just took a seat in the back beside Snitch and Bumlets, Racetrack making a place for himself between Blink and Mush.

_And life goes on,_ Mask thought, but didn't give the contented smile that she wawnted to give. She was too smart for that.

_And when life goes on like it should, somethin' always happens._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For most of the newsies, it was virtually impossible to finish selling all of their papes that day. People had fled the street for the comfort of home, and they did likewise, although the Lodging House wasn't much warmer than it was outside.

congregated in the bunkroom, Racetrack had started up a game of cards...Mask squinted, trying to see exactly what it was they were playing, then gave up. Specs and Bumlets spoke in hushed, quiet tones in a corner of the place, and Mush was raving about some girl he had met several days ago. For just a second, Mask tuned into his conversation with Blink.

"She's poifect! She's got dese eyes dat just...I mean, wow, you should see her! An' she says she's in love wit me, really!"

"So what's new, Mush?"

"Whaddaya mean, what's new? Lemee tell ya..."

_Life goes on._

Mask turned over on her side, the corner of her eyes catching a flash of movement. She listened closely as Swifty, Jake, Snipeshooter and Boots laid down several bets.

"Okay," Jake intoned, laying down a few coins. "See dis, Boots? If ya can get up da courage ta ask dat goil ta come ta Irvin' Hall wit ya tanight..."

"Waitasecond!" Boots protested. "Dat was nevah in da deal. I'se just a messanger for..."

_Life goes on._

"Hey, Snipes! Stop playin' wit my cigars! Give dat back, ya lousy liddle..."

"Cheer up, Skittery. You'll win da cash back."

"So Bumlets, I'se thinkin' maybe it'd be an opportunity for you an' me ta sell tageddah..."

"I dunno, Crutchy. Keep tawkin'."

"Well, ya see..."

_Life goes on._

"How often does somethin' like dat happen? It's a golden opportunity."

Snitch snorted. "Shoah, golden opportuniy. Da problem wit you, Pie, is all you t'ink of is playin' pranks."

"I do not!"

"Ha! Another loss, Race. You should stop gamblin' ya know. You're near flat broke!"

"Jack, da day I stop gamblin' will be da day Skittery lightens up."

"I hoid dat!"

"You was supposed to."

_Life goes on...good men die, but life goes on..._

"Mask!"

"Huh?"

Mask turned at the sound of Snoddy's voice. He had just come upstairs, and was still coated in snow. Mask chuckled at the comical sight.

"Yeah?"

"Hmm...well, I would ask ya if you was all right, but den again, I'd probably just get a smart answer."

"I'se fine," she replied distractedly. By now, she was used to the fact that the newsboys enjoyed playing on her arrogance, making it painfully clear that she got on their nerves more often than not, and making fun of her vanity.

_Hell. It's all in good humor, so who am I ta complain?_

Rolling over, the newsgirl brushed past Snoddy, who, used to her vast and startling mood swings and standard contemplative, brooding air, flashed her a short smile, then joined Racetrack and Jack at their game of Poker. Mask cast eyes one last time on the peaceful scene before her, then tramped downstairs, ready to sit by herself on the steps of the Lodging House and allow her thoughts to fly off into the darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask lost her balance on the last step and went head over heels onto the wooden floor. Cursing under her breath, the girl picked herself up, pulled a cigar from her pocket and lit up, taking a long drag of the thing and letting the smoke rings vanish into the darkness. Kloppman had left the doors open, and Mask shivered against the chill wind that entered.

_Ain't it strange,_ she thought, the thought coming out of seemingly nowhere, _how when we ain't lookin' for t'ings, we find 'em, and are unable ta find dem when we look?_

"Haven't changed a bit, have ya, Mask?"

Mask whirled at the soundof an all-too-familiar voice, a voice that she couldn't quite seem to place.

Turning, Mask glanced in the direction the noise had come from, as did Kloppman, who had been working at his desk. Deciding it was nothing of great importance, the man sighed, removed his hat from his head, put away the papers he had been working on a retired to his quarters, giving Mask instruction to shut and lock the doors before going back upstairs. The girl was barely listening, but nodded anyway, watching as a shadows detatched itself from the wall.

And she couldn't help but let out an involuntary gasp.

He was just as she remembered him: Immaculately dressed, or as immaculately dressed as a newsie could be, wide blue eyes ringed with gold deceptively innocent, cigar hanging out of his mouth at a provocative angle. Mask couldn't help but take a step backwards.

"So, I see you'se still da broodin' type," the boy laughed, his smile capable of making one beleive he had not a single wicked bone in his body. _Murderer_ was the last thing that would come to mind, if it came to mind at all.

"Cut to da chase, Gambler. Whaddaya want?" she asked. Her entire body felt numb, phantom pains from previous bruises and abrasions ached, and the control that made her voice harsh terrified her.

"You," he replied, then moved with almost superhuman speed. Mask hadn't noticed the hint of metal that glittered beneath his vest. It came into play as he clutched the handle of the dagger tightly with fingers just as slender as her's, grabbing her collar and bringing it downwards. Mask was frozen, terrified as he buried the handle into the wall beside her. She looked to Kloppman for assistance, but found he had retired to his quarters just seconds ago.

_Bad timin'. And I ain't bringin' anyone inta dis. Dis is between me, and him,_ she thought grimly.

Fast as lightening, the girl shoved him away, then drove a fist straight into his face, drawing blood on the first blow. He stagered backwards for a second, off-balance, then found his footing and rushed her.

"Wrong move," she spat, sidestepping. She was surprised to find he had anticipated such a thing, and changed his course of direction in the blink of an eye, grabbing her around the waist and throwing her to the floor.

Gambler wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then sneered. "Ya think you can outfigtht me? Wrong, _Mask_. Ya tried dat before, remembah? I'se da best fighter dere is out dere."

"Aside from Spot Conlon," she retorted, then, with a sweep of her legs knocked him of his feet and rose, grabbing the dagger that had long since fallen from his grip. "Ya know a loined a few good moves from him?"

The girl brandished the weapon. "All right, Gambler," she sasid, voice quavering, "I don't know what you wants wit me dis time. But get outta heah. Now, before I changes my mind and drives dis straight inta you, like ya did ta Crash."

"Ya wouldn't have da noive to," he shot back, but retreated nevertheless, fading into the oncoming night.

Snoddy came racing down the stairs, having heard several suspicious noises just as Mask crumpled against the wall, finally allowing tears to course down her cheeks, sobs to wrack her body. She didn't reseist when the newsboy took her into his arms, just let it be for the moment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was cold outside, but for some reason, both Snoddy and Mask reveled in the savage bite of the wind and snow. The duo seated themselves on the front steps of the Lodging House, staring darkness in the eye.

"So, ya wanna tell me about it?" Snoddy asked softly. Mask shook her head, the last of her praid having drained clear out of her. The only thing she tasted now was bitterness, bitterness and anger at the life she ahd lead.

Snoddy threw an arm around her shoulder, and she recoiled. He looked almost offended; she had never rejected his touch before. Finally, she seemed to deflate, letting out a long sigh and slumping against the wall of the place the Manhattan newsies called home.

"My name ain't Key. And it ain't Mask. Or Scrap, or Wave, or anythin' like dat. It's Mara. Mara Charlotte Delancey."

"Yeah, I know, ya told us," he replied, voice devoid of all emotion, just sitting there, watching her, waiting for her to go on.

For a few seconds, she remained silent, then continued.

"I wasn't always da notorious Key, ya know," she said, laughing softly. "Dere was a time when I was Mara, just Mara. I lived in Virginia," she added, seemingly as an afterthought. "Wit me parents and bruddah. His name was Martin."

"Mask, ya don't have ta go on if you don't want to," Snoddy offered, but she shook her head once more.

"I need to tell someone," she replied in strangled tones. "I been wantin' to for years...just didn't know how or who ta tell. Now I do," she said bluntly.

"T'ings hadn't been goin' so good between me muddah an' me," she said, staring at thing air. "Dat's da one thing I regret. I..." her voice trembled violently, and she fell silent.

Snoddy's hand reached out and grasped her arm in a gesture meant to be reassuring, but filled with tentativeness, as if afraid it would be unwelcome there. She did nothing this time, to shake off the touch.

"I guess ya could say I was just your average goil. I was doin' okay wit me studies, a bit crazy, a bit reckless," she laughed, and now, it seemed as though she were talking more to herself than to Snoddy. "But just..._me_. A goil. Mara Charlotte Delancey. I was closer to me faddah and bruddah den me muddah, and...I guess ya could say I was obsessed wit theatrics. I loved da art of illusion."

Someting sparked in Snoddy's mind, and he decided to interupt her. "Does dis have anythin' ta do wit Medda Larkson? Ya asked me about her before."

"Yes." The word was whispered. "She was...what ya might consider my mentor when it came to da ways of da stage, masks, illusion, performance and everything like dat. Back den, while she was still in Virginia, she was just a smalltime showgoil. I was more den surprised when I found out she owned Irving Hall."

"You paid a visit ta her yet?"

"Naw."

"Why not?"

Mask hesitated. "I'se afraid...afraid of how she'd react...aftah all dese years, I mean."

Snoddy raised an eyebrow in question. Mask didn't even glance at him, but went on to explain.

"Well, one night, a careless servant...one of ours, must've thrown his cigar down somewhere in da barn. Da hay caught fire, da burn was burnt down. Da fire had spread to da house. At least dat's what I thought. Latah, I was told it was suspected arson."

Silence.

Snoddy looked up expectantly. "And you're guilty. Guilty for..."

"For survivin'. Yeah, dat's right," she murmured. "I...a friend of me faddah's...helped me out kinda." She groped for words. "He...I t'ink he carried me out but..it was all heat an' flames an' screamin', and suddenly, I was outside."

"I didn't botha runnin', I let da orphanage take me. But as ya get older, if you're still in dat hellhole, da angels lose interest in ya, and nobody comes to rescue you," she said almost wistfully. At Snoddy's confused look, the girl began phrasing things a little differently.

"What I mean is, as an older kid, ya have fewer chances of being adopted. Nobody came for me, and I was almost in my teens by den. So I escaped."

"How?"

"I loined a few things. You'se lookin' at a genuine, professional lockpick heah. I escaped at night, and hitched da nearest train to New Yawk. It was da biggest mistake I evah made."

Snoddy raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't say dat."

"I would," she replied. "I ended up in Harlem, satyed dere for a liddle while makin' me livin' as a pickpocket and thief. Den, I started hearin' things about a certain person...Spot Conlon, most famed newsie of 'em all. I don't really know why," she added honestly, "but I just had ta go an' see him. Guess Martin...my bruddah's curiosity rubbed off on me."

"I stayed in Brooklyn for a liddle while. My search for Spot was kinda delayed because of all da business opportunities I found dere...if ya get what I mean. It was heaven for a pickpocket. Well, I pickpocketed da wrong poison. Which is how I ran inta Spot."

Snoddy gave a noise halfway between astonishment and laughter. "You tried ta rob Spot Conlon?"

"Hey, how was I supposed ta know what he looked like?"

There was a long pause. Snoddy stared at her hard. "You two..." he hesitated, "...you two fell in love, didn'tcha? Don't look so surprised. Everybody knows da story of da Key of Brooklyn. But why'd ya leave him?"

"I don't know," she answered, eyes covered by shadows. "I honestly don't know. Maybe I was tryin' ta compensate for what I lost in da fire...tryin' ta spread da pain I'd been feelin' for years."

Snoddy nodded knowingly, then lt ehr continue.

"Anyway, I moved ta Harlem. Stayed wit da newsies dere for a liddle while. Our leadah...ya remembah her? Was Crash."

"She's dead now, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Wanna know how she was killed?" the newsgirl asked with more than a shadow of bitterness in her voice. Snoddy didn't reply, unsure of what t say. She answered her own question. "Gambler killed her. She and him was always fightin' for control of da group. One day, he took it a step too far. Stabbed her wit dat dagger of his. Dat was aftah he...raped me."

She said the words softly, shyly, ashamed. But they hit Snoddy like boulders, and he snapped to attention instantly. "He what?"

"Gambler always gets what he wants," she explained, "and when someone refuses him, he takes it by force. No mattah what da consequences."

In the dim lamplight, Snoddy realized she was crying, but seemed rooted in place, unable to make any gestures of comfort. He just listened to what she had to say.

"Aftah dat, he took ovah, making Crash's murder look like an accident. Things fell inta chaos. He was leader when he felt like it," she added with a sneer. "When it didn't suit him, somebody else took ovah. Dat's wheah da Harlem newsies get deir name for being the most loosely-woven, disorganized group in all of New Yawk City."

"I couldn't take dat kinda life anymore. Couldn't stand livin' wit Gambler..." her voice cracked, and she went on with an effort, "livin' wit Gambler knowin' dat he'd won. He- he was...publicizing it...makin' a big deal of what he'd done to...well, y'know. I don't know. Somethin' just snapped; I left Harlem dat night, left, ran and didn't stop runnin'."

"And dat kid, da one downstairs, dat was him?"

She nodded wordlessly. Snoddy finally gathered her up in his arms, a broken, sorry bundle, ruined by the course life had taken her down.

"What does he want?"

"I-I don't know," she stammered, looking, for the first time in ages, exceedingly insecure. "I gotta..." her eyes widened, flashing emerald in what little light there was as realization dawned on her. "I gotta go back to Harlem," she said firmly. Snoddy's muscles tenes.

"Why?"

"I...I have a fried dere. Her name's Roof. She'll help me, she'll know."

Reluctantly, Snoddy released her and nodded in agreement. "But you ain't goin' alone."

"No, I am. Dis is one journey I'se makin' by myself, just for da record," she said wryly, then allowed him to lead her back to the bunkroom, her feelings in turmoil, but more at peace with herself than she had been in years.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Wheah's Mask?"

Snoddy turned at Blink's question, ready to snap rudely at him as he had done so for the past few weeks. He decided against it when he saw the genuine concern radiating from his friend's single eye.

"In Ha...she's..." Snoddy ran a hand through dark hair, genuinely apologetic. "I'se real sorry, Blink, but I can't tell ya dat."

Blink decided to push the matter. "Why not?"

"Look, Blink, don't make me mad, okay? I said no. Dat should be enough."

Blink continued following his friend. The washroom was crowded as always, and as much as possible, Snoddy wanted to avoid the prying eyes of his comrades. Turning to Blink, he took on a pleading tone.

"C'mon, Blink, just let it drop. Let it go."

"Hey, she's my concern, too, ya know."

Snoddy turned on him, shoving him against the wall. "Ya know, ever since dat goil's arrived, you make it seem like she belongs ta you, and you alone! Haven't ya evah though of what she wanted?"

Blink pushed Snoddy away, glaring. "I wouldn't tawk, ya know."

Before Snoddy knew what he was doing, he had decked Blink with his fist in a single, fluid motion. Blink staggered backwards, clutching his jaw, a rapidly forming bruise upon it. Blood leaked from his mouth.

Snoddy moved forwards, staring at his fist, appalled. "Blink...I'se real...I didn't..."

"Can it," Blink snapped, grabbed his hat and stormed out of the room. All had fallen silent, and snoddy was painfully aware of the accusing stares that were being cast upon him. He followed Blink's lead, leaving the place behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask kept her head down against the snow that had very quickly turned to rain. The girl shivered violently, and not entirely from the physical cold. She had crossed the border of Harlem twenty minutes ago, and could only hope that Gambler was still in Manhattan. If she showed up, he would have every right to either soak her himself, or get several of his goons to do it for him.

There were fewer people out on the street, which made the going easier. Jamming her hands into her pocket, the girl regretted putting her hair up in a braid. She enjoyed the way the thick locks covered and warmed the back of her neck, especially on cold days like this.

_Oh well. Dat's how I've always styled it, and dat's how it stays._

A sudden flash of movement from up above caught her eye, and she couldn't stop a grin from spreading across her face.

On the rooftop, a girl no older than she was perched, glancing about warily. Her blue eyes sparkled with laughter, wawtching as the two blue-suited officers passed by right underneath her. With a toss of her golden head, she waited several more seconds, then clambered expertly to the ground, and, whistling a jaunty tune, strode off in a northeasterly direction.

Mask caught her before she could go any further, slipping and sliding in the snow, but managing to keep her balance. She laid a weary hand on the girl's shoulder. The girl spun around, alarmed, then squinted, as though trying to recall something.

"Roof," Mask said, her voice betraying more than a hint of fatigue. She hadn't had breakfast that morning, and had walked nonstop, fast and hard. Roof's gaze narrowed further, then her eyes widened. For once, the talkative Gossip Queen was dumbstruck.

"Mask! Jeez, Mask...it's been weeks, but it feels like ages! Wheah ya been?"

"Manhattan," the latter replied shortly.

Roof gave a knowing nod, then awkwardly embraced her old friend. "I'se been missin' ya, but I guess your location as of right now is for da best," she said honestly. Mask nodded in wholehearted agreement, then, after clamping her hands into fists drew in a breath of frigid air.

"Gambler...is he...is he heah?"

Roof's eyelids dropped. "Naw. He left for Manhattan last night. He..." recognition dawned upon the girl, and she looked up, stunned. "He's really serious, ain't he?"

Mask grabbed her friend's shoulders and gave her a rough shake. "Whaddaya mean, "he's really serious?""

Roof's face turned grim, and she pursed her lips till they whitened.

"Come wit me."

Mask balked. "Look, Roof, I ain't showin' me face in dat warehouse no more," she sasid, blood rising to her cheeks. "Everybody knows what happened wit...well, you know."

Roof laid a sympathetic hand on Mask's arm, giving her a wan, tired smile. "Don't worry about it. Everybody's at da diner, dat's wheah dey spends most of deir time nowadays. And besides, what I've got ta say..."

Roof let the words hand, and Mask couldn't help but grin. The girl should have been an entertainer; she enjoyed drawing out suspense.

"What I've got ta say," Roof continued, "...could save your life."

Mask's smile vanished almsot instantly. Without a sound, the girl bowed her head against the elements and tramped off into the snow, following roof to the empty, abandoned warehouse, which seemed colder than it had ever been before.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask arrived in the dead of night, tramping into Manhattan from Harlem, her feet automatically taking her to the doors of the Lodging House, which thankfully were still unlocked. Throwing them open, the girl stomped up the stairs, knowing that most of her friends would still be awake even at this ungodly hour.

Her suspicions were confirmed when, before she entered the bunkroom, Race's voice floated out towards her, loud and insulting.

In no mood for banter of any sort, Mask tried to make herself invisible as she made her entrance, trying blend with the shadows, trying to _become_ a shadow.

"Hey fellas, look who's back!" Boots called out, voice laden with good humor. Mask grimaced as Specs, nearest to her gave her a slap on the back.

"Wheah ya been, Mask?" he chuckled. Mask mumbled something, and he didn't question her any further.

Thew newsie threw herself down onto the bunk that she had called her's for a month or so now, and tried to block out the noise, all in vain.

_"...Come on, Martin! It was just a few words. That shouldn't break up a friendship like that!"_

Martin turned to his sister, the frightful glare on his face contrasting sharply to the greenery of the surrounding meadow. Mara backed up a pace or two.

"Hey, I never asked for it to happen. But Francis...he just starts things. He always liked picking fights."

"You know he didn't mean what he said. He was angry," Mara pleaded, "and we do things whenever we're angry. You've just got to learn how to let go..."

_How to let it go. I wish I'd take me own advice,_ Mask thought bitterly, _because I can't seem ta let go._

She recounted the disturbing news given to her by Roof, letting it hang heavy on her heart, letting it consume every single part of her mind. No, letting go never came easy. She would have to be on guard now.

"Hey Mask, join us, huh?"

Mask turned and found herself staring straight into Racetrack's face. She reached out and tried to shove him away, but he dodged her hand. The two had had a bad relashionship going for quite awhile, constantly bickering, Race finding Mask far too uptight, Mask finding Race far too free with both money and cares.

"I ain't it da mood for it."

Race rolled his eyes. "When are ya gonna lighten up, huh?"

She didn't bother answering, stuffing her head underneath her pillow and trying not the hear him. But she knew he would persist, and persist he did.

"Wasn't it you who gave me da advice, 'if ya can't beat 'em, join em?' Well, you'se certainly not gonna be able ta tear us away from our card games, so ya might as well join us," he stated, grinning triumphantly. Mask regarded him for a second, then turned away.

"Like I said, I ain't in da mood."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snoddy ran into Mask halfway to the Lodging House, each heading in opposite directions. He looked surprised to see her, although Mask wasn't quite sure why. Her night time walks had become a normal thing to all the newsboys; nobody questioned her and nobody tried to stop her.

"Heya, Mask. Out again, I see?"

"Yep. But what are you doin' out? I thought I was da only one who did dese kind of senseless things," she smiled, attempting a halfhearted joke. Snoddy raised an eyebrow.

"Sometin's up. Nowadays, you're usually da female version of Skittery. Why so happy all of a sudden?"

She slumped. "I ain't happy. In fact, I'se far from happy."

"Dat sounds more like da goil we all know and love," Snoddy chuckled, throwing an arm about her shoulders. She looked up at him and smiled appreciatively.

"Now, what's botherin' ya?"

"I don't wanna tawk about it."

"You're gonna tawk about it sooner or latah," the boy pointed out. "Da things we keep inside...if we _do_ keep 'em inside for too long, it explodes. All comes down to an angry shout. Bettah ta release 'em before dat happens."

"Are you tryin' ta pry?"

"Naw. Just pointin' out what I think'll woik ta your benifit."

"My benifit?" the girl scoffed. "Since when did you care?"

Snoddy grabbed her arm and whirled her around so that she faced him. His eyes were coals in the darkness, blazing emotion. "See? Dat's da problem wit ya. Ya supress your emotions. Ya shut everybody out. Ya can't _let go_ of things. And you believe dat's a healthy lifestyle!"

Mask, to her surprise, found herself yelling right back. "I _know_ it ain't a healthy lifestyle! I wanna be..._me_," she managed to get out, "but I can't! 'Cause..."

She stopped and stalked ahead of him, tears streaking her face. Snoddy caught up to her, grasping her shoulders. "'Cause what?"

She winced a little as his grip tightened. "'Cause..." she groped for words. "'Cause...da real me ain't worth anythin'," she said, her eyes showing clearly that she was willing the other to understand exactly what she was saying. But she didn't have to. He already knew.

Drawing a bit closer to her, the boy gave a crooked smile. "Yes, da real you is worth somethin'. Worth a lot."

"How would you know?"

"Mask," Snoddy said, exasperated, "ya may t'ink you'se been doin' a good job, hidin' yourself, hidin' your past, but it shows, and it shows painfully clear."

"Mask?"

Mask turned at the familiar voice, and so did Snoddy. A slim, petite figure interposed herself between the two, stepping into the lamplight. Blonde hair glinted in the flames, blue eyes danced with merriment.

"Roof? Whatcha doin' heah in Manhattan?"

Roof stepped forwards a bit, throwing an apprehensive glance at Snoddy. The two girls were alike in many ways. Anybody who knew them, and knew them well would have sworn that they had come from the same parents. Both were wary, untrusting creatures, finding trust a thing hard to give to people. But once given, they would fight to the death for the ones they loved, and stand by them no matter what winds blew and what storms occured. However, while Mask was tended to close herself up a bit more, dark and depressed, her mood swings constant and unpredictable, Roof was a bubbly, steady, open girl, unafraid to discuss the past.

Snoddy returned Roof's gaze and gave her a nod of recognition. Roof grinned impishly and elbowed Mask. "See ya found yourself a boy."

Mask blushed and very ill-temperdly shoved her friend aside. "What're ya tawkin' about?"

"I see you're still in denial. You'll come around."

Snoddy laughed at the outraged expression on Mask's face, introduced himself to the newcomer, then tuned in to what the two girls were talking about.

The words were whispered, but he managed to catch a few.

"...Gambler...heah in...aftah..."

"Speakin' of...just...Crash."

"...ovah it...dead."

Snoddy jerked to attention at the last word, and gazed intently at them, the intensity of his gaze drawing Mask's attention. Roof looked up as well, following her friend's eyes. She gave Snoddy a long, hard, stare.

"What're ya doin', listenin' in?"

Snoddy threw an arm around Mask's shoulders: a gesture that had become familiar to her. "Dis heah's my friend," he stated matter-of-factly, "and anythin' concerin' her, concern's me."

"The mentality of Manhattan newsies," Mask said playfully, giving him a shove. But somehow, although she would not admit it, it had become her mentality as well, with some effort. Turning to Roof, she raised an eyebrow. "So, we gonna let him in on dis?"

"He's your boyfriend. Your call."

The girl glowered. "He is _not_ me boyfriend."

"Shoah. Whatevah ya say."

"If you wasn't one of me best friends, I'd soak ya."

"Uh-huh. Like ya could if ya tried."

"Hey, don't say dat ta da goil who-"

"Who got beaten prety badly in our last fight?"

"Ladies, please," Snoddy cut in. Both turned to look at him. "Quit arguin'. Now, what was ya gonna tell me?"

Mask gave Roof a significant glance and cleared her throat. Roof nodded knowingly.

"Ah. I see. You wants some time alone wit your boyfriend," she said slyly. Mask turned to say something to her, but she had vanished somewhere into the darkness.

Soddy looked at his friend, amused, then settled in for the next part of her story.

She ran a hand through her hair, a familiar gesture by now, and took in a sharp breath. "Okay...I don't know why I'se tellin' ya dis..."

"You'se tellin' me 'cause we all gotta story, and we all gotta spill it sometime or da odder."

"Once more, your logic astounds me," she sasid sarcastically, but there was truth behind those words. "Anyway, in a nutshell: Gambler's out for me blood."

"What? Why?"

Mask's face was expressionless, but her tone was wry with bitterness and laden with insecurity. "I toldja how he became leadah of da Harlem newsies. Toins out, dat's not exactly what dey wanted," she added, voice dripping sarcasm, just to honey-coat the understatement. "And now, dey're callin' for a new leader. Nobody's ready ta take on Gambler, though. Dey figured..."

She paused, and hesitated, then, without even a trace of modesty added, "...dey figured dat I'd best suit da position." She laughed bitterly. "Dey're usin' me, dat's what," she interupted before Snoddy could get a word out. "Dey t'ink dat I'd be angry and stupid enough because of what Gambler did...well, ya know. Dey t'ink dat'd make me angry and stupid enough ta try and take on him. Shoah, I could beat him in a one-on-one fight...if it was short enough. But he's got da stamina I don't have."

One of the things Snoddy noticed about the girl, was that along with her arrogance, she was able to be brutally honest with herself. It was a sharp contrast.

"So, he figures dat da best way ta ensure his position as leader is ta..." Snoddy cut himself off, eyes widening.

Mask nodded grimly, and Snoddy grabbed her shoulders, giving them a good shake. "Mask, do you realize da position you'se in? My God, Mask, he's out ta _kill_ you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Mask of Harlem ran into Manhattan's one and only Cowboy as she re-entered the Lodging House. What reason he had for being up so late, she didn't know and didn't care to ask. She stepped back a bit, allowing Snoddy to tramp up the stairs without her, locking eyes with Jack.

_Hazel eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes. Eyes I always wanted ta have,_ she thought wistfully, Francis Sullivan's face coming back to her in a flash.

And she decided to take the chance.

Reaching out, she grabbed Jack's arm before he could throw down the ciagarette he'd been smoking. He glanced at her, bewildered. She smiled and cleared her throat.

"Earthshine: is the thread of life. Life is earth, it make the earth shine. Everything's interwoven."

Jack's eyes narrowed, then widened, then narrowed again.

"Hey, where'd ya get dat?"

"From you, Francis," she replied casually, savouring the shocked expression that his face formed with wicked delight. Jack stammered something, then was struck totally silent, his eyes regarding her as though she were a woman risen from the grave.

And in a way, she was.

And then, he tossed the cigarette aside, sweeping her into a hug that was so ferocious, it could have been called violent. She half laughed, half sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck, a lifetime of memories coming back to her in the course of a few seconds.

Jack finally put her down, both their shadows cast against the wall of the Lodging House by the dim street lamp that flickered outside. He stared at her, not quite comprehending what had just occured.

"Mara," he said almost flatly, "I...I had no idea. I thought dere was somethin' about ya...I...I nevah realized..._you're_ da Key of Brooklyn?"

"Yeah," she replied, foolish, lopsided grin on her face, the sheer happiness of the moment causing her to appear almost in drunken state.

"My. God. I hoid..." his voice grew subdued, and he fought back the darkness that was very quickly rising in his eyes. "Aftah da fire, I hoid you was sent to da orphanage. Nevah hoid anythin' else aftah dat. Nevah knew what happened ta you."

"Jack Kelly, leader of da Manhattan newsies," Mask half chortled. "Martin would nevah let ya heah da end of it."

"No, he wouldn't," Jack said softly, reaching out and grasping her face between calloused hands. "You've changed, Mask. But you'll always be my adopted sister," he added with a laugh. "Still filled wit enough vanity ta make one sick."

"And lovin' it." She glanced at him strangely. "So how'd you get outta Virginia? Your faddah actually let you?"

Jack lowered his eyes, a blush spreading over his cheeks. "My faddah...he's in jail."

Mask wasn't surprised by the news.

"I'se real sorry."

"Don't be," Jack shot back, face hardening again. "He desoived it."

Silence.

"I...Medda had already moved on ta New Yawk when me faddah was arrested. She didn't let da orphanage take me. Instead, she sent me a bit of cash and I hitched da next train outta dere. She was supposed ta take me in...but..." he jammed his hands into his pockets. "...life in da house never suited me. So I took to da streets. Besides," he added, looking somewhat uncertain. "She'd nevah have had da money ta support both her and me." He glanced at Mask. "You understand, right?"

"Yeah. I understand."

Jack paused, drawing in a breath. "Martin was me best friend," he said simply, as though giving a delayed eulogy for a person, stuck somewhere between boy and man, long dead. "He was dere when me muddah died...he was dere when even when me faddah started drinkin'. I miss him."

"I miss him, too."

And the shadows danced, in the eyes of Francis Sullivan, Jack Kelly, Cowboy, leader of the Manhattan newsboys and Mara Charlotte McKeary, Mask of Harlem, Key of Brooklyn. They cast themselves everywhere, acting out a play of sorts, writing the story of many without words.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mask lay back in her bunk, and for a moment, she was not at the Lodging House, but deep in the heart of Virginia, listening to the crickets sing as darkness took over.

_Earthshine..._

_The clouds rolled back to reveal a sky of pure black, stars sprawled over the uncharted distance. Mara lay back in the cool grass, accompanied not only by Martin, but by Francis, just as glad to be out of the house and outdoors._

"Francis?" Mara asked, voice soft.

"Hmmm?"

"What's it like, not having a mother?"

Silence.

Only a child could ask a question so brutally honest. Francis said nothing, and Martin shot her a deadly glare. She shrugged, an innocent look pasted onto her face. The boy's mother had left this world not too long ago, and Mr. Sullivan, his father, once a wealthy businessman had been fighting a losing battle against alchohol and violent explosions of rage.

Martin hissed something into his sister's ear, but she didn't have time to comprehend what was being said. Francis gave his friend's sleeve a tug, and shook his head. "Hey, come on. Lighten up!"

"Martin, what's earthshine?"

Both boys turned their heads at the sudden, and rather abrupt change of subject. Martin couldn't stop a grin, and he reached over and chucked the girl gently under the chin.

"Where do you get these words? I'm not even sure if that one exists."

"Yes, it does," Francis piped up fervently. "Earthshine:" he cleared his throat significantly, then gave a definition, as though he were reading out of a dictionary. "...is the thread of life. Life is earth, it make the earth shine._ Everything's interwoven."_

Martin gave his friend a playful shove. "And you, where do you get these sappy things?"

The two fell to playfighting, leaving Mara to wonder. She didn't consider such things 'sappy'. She didn't fully comprehend the words, but they mistified her anyway...

And Mask's gaze travelled through the darkened room, towards the bunk at the far end, Jack Kelly's bunk. And something familiar, a recognition seemed to stir within her.

_Earthshine...it's a beautiful woid._

She fell asleep with this thought, and for once, was plagued with no nightmares. Only shadows flickered in her mind. Everybody in life _was_ a shadow.

And shadows are never constant.


	3. Beyond the Mask

Past Illusion: Beyond the Mask 

_"A strong mind always hopes,  
and always has cause to hope."_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snoddy watched form a distance as his comrades got ready for another day of work. His mind was not on selling papers, but he had somehow forced himself up and out of bed, forced himself to get dressed, forced himself to make halfhearted attempts in joining the usual rowdy banter that went on, and forced himself to sit still while the last few of his friends ran combs through their hair, tied on bandanas and pocketed the money they intended on using for buying their papes.

The newsie watched as Mask and Jack strode out, throwing playful punches at each other, then gave a small grin as Crutchy snatched the hat from the girl's head, hid it behind his back, then ducked behind Mush.

Snoddy's thoughts were quickly turned in another direction, however, when Blink came striding by, looking very irritated, very tired, and in no mood to be tampered with.

Snoddy grabbed his arm anyway, pulling him aside.

"Hey, Blink," he said uncertainly. Blink gave him a sharp glance, then a hasty reply.

"I'd love ta stop and chat, Snoddy, but I'se gotta go."

"No, ya don't," Snoddy shot back. "Now stop bein' angry and start bein' sensible."

"What was dat? A threat?"

"No. Logic. Now siddown and shuddap."

Something, perhaps the authorative snap in the newsboy's tone caused Blink to do exactly what he was told to. aking a seat in front of his friend, he fixed a penetrating gaze upon Snoddy, who stared evenly back.

"Foist, I wanted ta apologize for what I did...ya know, punchin' you out and everythin'. It was wrong, and I regret it. I regret a lot of things I do when I get angry."

The tension seemed to drain out of Blink, and he gave a genial smile and a nod of acceptance. Snoddy seemed more relaxed now as well.

"Da second t'ing: dis war ovah who gets rights ovah what goil is makin' me sick, okay? I'll give dat to ya straight. May I also point out dat we nevah once stopped ta wonder what it was dat _she_ wanted?"

Blink seemed to realize this for the first time, and sat up a bit straighter, nodding in agreement.

"Yeah, I...I guess I nevah really looked at it dat way," he admitted rather grudgingly. "But you're right."

"So," Snoddy continued, "I don't know about you, but I'se just gonna leave it where it is right now, and see how t'ings toin out." He paused for a second, then went on. "An' no mattah what happens...we're still friends, right?" hd added hesitantly.

The duo rose, and Blink gave Snoddy a gentle clap on the shoulder. "Of course. We've had our fights before...but we'se still heah, still friends, ain't we? And dat's da way it's gonna be."

And both left the Lodging House, stepping out into another chill winter's day, the snow crisp and fresh and shining brilliantly in the sunlight.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spot Conlon reclined on a stack of old crates, gazing out at the water as night dawned. The Brooklyn leader was something of an enigma to his followers, and he preferred to keep it that way. There were times, however, when he wished for the closeness that Jack had with his newsies.

_Ah well. Dat's da way it's always been, dat's da way it's gonna stay._

Moonlight danced on the tide, creating shapes and patterns over the waves, and the newboy's eyes glistened in the darkness, not with tears, but with a sudden flood of memories and emotions that came streaming back to him.

So, Key had chosen to leave him far behind. A closing door was nothing new to him, and he was very ready to accept that.

Still, something felt wrong.

Picking up the gold-tipped cane, the Brooklyn leader leaped nimbly from the crates and strode off into the darkness, becoming one with the shadows.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"EXTRA, EXTRA! Read all about it! Whorehouse harbouring pack of thieves and murders stormed by police! Read all about it!"

Mask's throat was getting dry, and every single muscle in her body felt as though it was ready to simply throw itself down on a warm, comforting bunk and fall asleep.

_Can't stop now. I shouldn'ta taken dis many papes,_ she thought, regret washing over her like high tide over sand. She crossed her fingers and hoped that this headline would work. It was a far cry from the truth, and she anticipated having to run from any angry customers who realized that they had been scammed.

Slowly, people started paying attention to her as she built on the story little by little, melding various headlines together, conjuring up past headlines off the top of her head. Her hard work paid off. After twenty minutes, she was down to her last fifteen papes, an improvement from the thirty that she had originally taken. Trying not to crow with glee, the girl pocketed the cash and threw down her papers _hard,_ laughing in triumph as they hit the dust.

_Been wantin' ta do dat all day. Take _dat_, ya stinkin' papes, lousy headlines...take dat, Pulitzer! Dat's what I t'inks of your dumb paper._

Then, under the odd gaze of bystanders staring at the strange girl who seemed to be gloating over inanimate objects, Mask reached down, gathered up her papes and began heading off towards Tibby's.

_Hmmm. I ain't dat hungry...gota about thoity...thoity five cents in me pocket...don't wanna gamble it all away...ah hell. I might as well head down to da racetrack, just to watch,_ she told herself. Taking several sharp turns, she observed as the street grew broader, and people seemed to flock in one general direction: the track.

As always, it was a noisy, crowded place, and she would have to wait about fifteen minutes before the next event began. Edging in to the nearest seat she could find, the girl felt previously knotted muscles loosen, her spirits lift. Turning, a foolish grin pasted onto her sharp, angular features, she froze when she found herself right beside an old enemy: Racetrack Higgins, gambler extrodinaire.

Her smile vanished almost instantly, and she considered finding another seat, and most likely would have had it not been for the unusual forlorn expression on the newsboy's face. Biting her lip, she hesitated a moment, then reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

_Jeez. I know I'se gonna regret dis later on._

Race jumped, startled, and then ran a hand through curly hair at the sight of his opponent.

"Stop sneakin' up like dat," he snapped, "and whaddaya want?"

Mask fought down the almost overwhelming urge to ball her hand up into a fist and let it fly straight into his face. Instead, she plastered on a falsely sympathetic smile and gave a polite reply. "I'se just wonderin' why you'se lookin' so down," she said. Race considered a moment, then, in an unexpected flash of trust, decided to spill his story to her.

"It's been gettin' hard, y'know?" he mumbled. "Not shoah if you was heah for da last event, but I just put da last of me money on da line, and lost it."

Mask could see the obvious distress he was fighting, and her heart went out to him. "I'se real sorry Race. Hey, how 'bout I buy ya lunch at Tibby's?"

He turned to her. "You feelin' okay?"

"What?" she shot back offended. "I'se just bein' nice, dat's all!"

"Huh. Dat's what worries me."

"Well, I buyin' ya lunch or not?"

Race seemed to hesitate, then broke into a smile. "Shoah."

"Hey. Dat's what friends...especially if deir newsies, are for." Pause. "So, how's your goil?"

Race's grin turned bitter. "She ain't mine anymore. Well, least I ain't shoah. I got dis suspcion she's-"

"Cheatin' on ya?"

"Yeah." He blushed. "But when I asked her, she gets angry at me!" He shook his head. "Women."

Mask chuckled. "Your goil...what's her name? Da one dat woiks down at da inn?"

"Cathrine. But everyone calls her 'Fingers,' 'cause, well..." he blushed. "But I'se shoah she wouldn't try anythin'...she said...well, I'se shoah she ain't..." he trailed off, then looked as though he were about to say something more.

Mask cut him off, stifling the urge to break into laughter. She hadn't expected naievety from _Racetrack_!

"C'mon, Race. Since ya got no more money left ta spend, let's get outta heah. Take a walk. Talk about life's problems before headin' down ta lunch."

Race narrowed his eyes in suspicion, then saw the honesty glinting in the seas of green. Smiling, he nodded. "Dat's a plan."

"Shoah is."

And the two enemies left the track that day, perfectly content to gripe and groan about life's small, petty details, firm friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was night at the Lodging House, and boredom had taken a firm grip on the place. Swifty lounged around on his bunk, doing nothing but trading tired glances with Boots, who finally stopped the staring contest to toy with the marbles he kept in his pocket. Mask sat staring into empty space, having half talked herself to death with Racetrack. Race in turn, absolutely no money left to gamble, gazed listlessly at his toes.

Snoddy believed that he would slowly go insane if this kept up any longer. He was accumstomed the place having a lively atmosphere, games of keep away taking place in abundance, Race's voice presiding over any card games going on, the newsboys convincing Mask to join in their fun and games. Sitting up a it straighter, he cast eyes on the newsgirl.

"Hey, uh, Mask. Dat accent of your's ain't pure New Yawk," he said teasingly. "Ya got some Socttish mixed in dere."

She grinned right back. "Yeah? Well lemee tell ya somethin'. My folks ain't always lived in Virginia. Dey came dere from Scotland, wheah me pop and mama was born and raised. Me faddah had a very strong Scottish accent, guess I picked it up."

"Ya know anythin' about da Scottish culture?"

Mask snorted in derision. "A course!"

Most of the boys had turned at the sound of some semblance of conversation. The corner of Snoddy's mouth quirked upwards.

"So, ya wanna sing us a song or somethin'?"

Mask protested, but the others, clearly desperate for some kind of distraction, insisted. Shooting Snoddy a withering glare, she fidgeted nervously a few times, then broke into song.

_**"Let us go, lassie to  
Tae the braes o' Balquhidder,  
Whar the blueberries grow  
'Mang the bonnie Hielan heather  
Whar the deer and the rae  
Lichtly bounding thegither,  
Sport the lang summer day  
On the braes o' Balquhidder.  
_

"I will twin thee a bow'r  
By the clear silver fountain,  
And I'll cover it o'er  
Wi' the flooers o' the mountain  
I will range through the wilds And return wi' their spoils  
Tae the bow'r o' my dearie."

  
"Whe the rude wintry win'  
Idly waves roun' oor dwellin'  
And the roar o' the linn  
On the night breeze is swellin'  
So merrily we'll sing  
As the storm rattles o'er us  
Till the dear sheilin' ring  
Wi' the light liltin chorus."

Mask stopped, breaking off abruptly and shaking her head. "I'se real sorry, can't remembah da last few verses."

Snoddy gazed at her, fascinated. Her voice wasn't spectacular, but it was pleasant enough, a lusty alto, belting out the tune loud and long. "Wow. You're faddah teach ya dat or somethin'?"

"Yeah."

She was silent for a moment, the proceeded to rattle off a string of information on Soctland and it's history, allowing some bits and pieces of her previous life to slip, but keeping her guard up. The room dissolved into chatter, discussion flying freely back and forth. Mask slid into subdued silence, echoes of the Highlands her father had known ringing in her ears.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roof entered Tibby's, glancing hesitantly around. Brooklyn, Harlem, and Queens were known for their abundance of female newsies. Manhattan had a grand total of one girl at the moment, and the Harlem newsie wasn't sure how they'd react to the prescence of another one being thrust in their midst.

The waiter gave her a genial grin and a friendly wink, and allowing this to embolden her, the girl stepped forwards, finding herself under the cynical gaze of none other than Jack Kelly.

"You a newsie or somethin'?" he asked bluntly, not bothering to smile. She nodded nervously, and would have been subject to further questioning had Snoddy not risen from one of the back tables and given her a nod and a grin.

"Hey, ease off dere, Jack. I know dis goil. A newsie from Harlem, and Mask's friend."

Mask threw a few playful punches in Snoddy's direction. "Let me do da tawkin' round heah." Drawing herself up, the newsgirl gestures towards the blonde. "Okay fellas, dis heah is Rooftop, but we calls her Roof for short. If she feels like it, she'll explain how she got dat nickname."

Mush glanced at Roof, taking note of the waistlength blonde hair, full figure, inviting lips and sparkling blue eyes and instantly lost his heart.

Mask rolled his eyes as Mush launched into another spurt of sickeningly sweet words and phrases, then shoved him aside, trading significant glances with her friend.

"Mush, I don't t'ink she came heah ta see weather or not you'd win her heart."

"Well, she's won mine," Mush replied smoothly. Mask rolled her eyes once more and glanced at Roof again.

"Dere's somethin' ya wanna tell me. Get ovah heah."

Roof, used to her comrade's bluntness followed her, each finding a seat in an empty booth.

Not wasting any time on formalities or greetings, Mask slammed a hand down on the table for emphasis. "So, what is it dis time, Roof?"

Roof hesitated, looking totally insecure. "Uh...well..."

"Out wit it."

"It's Gambler."

The words fell like stones, and Mask strugled to keep her composure. Nonchalantly, she chewed on her bottom lip. "Yeah? What about dat bastard?"

"Mask, dis is more serious den ya t'ink," Roof hissed, drawing a bit closer. "Mask, I know dis sounds crazy, but I t'ink dat boy's a bit insane. He tawks ta shadows, Mask, he talks ta _shadows_!"

Mask shuddered, but said nothing. Roof went on.

"Mask. I don't t'ink I can take livin' dere any longer! It's a nuthouse, it really is."

"So stay heah in Manhattan."

Roof looked weary, running a hand through her hair. "Naw. I couldn't leave Handle, and ya knows dat. I..." she hesitated. "I loves him."

Mask was surprised. She had known that fact for quite a while now, it was just that Roof wasn't prone to saying things like that. The newsgirl blushed, then went back on track.

"He's tracked ya down. He knows you're stayin' at da Lodging House, he knows wheah it's located. My God, Mask, he even knows wheah ya sell your papes, wheah Tibby's is, da name of da man runnin' da Lodgin' House...Floppman, right?"

Mask didn't bother cracking a smile at the mistake. "Kloppman," she corrected mirthlessly.

"Whatevah. I don't know how he got dat information, I honestly don't...he. Mask. You'se in ovah your head!"

Mask was frozen in place. She stared numbly at Roof, who glared back. "Do ya understand what I'se tryin' ta tell ya?"

"Yeah, I get it. Now go have fun. Flirt wit da boys while Handle's not around," she retorted, making an attempt to lighten the situation.

Roof shook her head, then began sauntering over to where Mush sat. Suddenly, she turned back.

"Mask?"

"Yeah?"

"Spot me two bits, will ya?"

"I'se broke."

"Yeah. Right."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Swifty turned back, hands on his knees, panting hard just in time to see Mask come tearing around the corner after him. Gasping for breath, sweat glistening on her brow, she threw herself down in the shade of the boardwalk. Winter had come and gone, and now, all the newsies were enjoying the abundance of good weather and clear skies spring had to offer.

Thew newsboy strode over to her, grinning triumphantly, hands on hips. From seemingly out of nowhere, Crutchy, Boots, Bumlets and Snoddy seemed to materialize, all wearing a smile similar to the one on Swifty's face.

Snoddy laughed. "So, I guess ya owe Bumlets heah ten cents. Toldja he ain't named Swifty for nothin'. No one outruns him, and he's damn good at pickin' his way through a crowded street."

"All right, I admit," Mask managed to get out between breaths, "it was a stupid bet. I shoulda nevah put my mouth and my money togetha."

"Comin' for you, dat's a pretty spectacular phrase," Bumlets intoned. "So, what's next? Ya gonna try ta out-talk Racetrack?"

"It's already been done."

"By who?"

"Me, genuis."

"Wanna be-"

Before he could get the word out, Crutchy broke in. "Naw. Dat's enough bettin' for taday," he chortled. "Hey, Bumlets, ya interested in splittin' da ten cents two ways?"

"Yeah. Half goes ta me, and da odder half goes ta myself."

The banter and chatter grew and extended, and soon, Mask found herself a bit irked at not being included in it. Snoddy reached over and gave her a playful shove.

"Hey, whatcha lookin' so glum for, huh? It's spring. No more havin' ta sell in bitin' cold."

"Yeah," she replied mournfully, "just havin' ta sell in swelterin' heat."

"Stop bein' so pesscimistic," Soddy admonished. "Anyway, ya headed down ta Tibby's or to da track?"

"Depends on wheah you'se headed," she relied smoothly. Snoddy laughed.

"Tibby's it is."

"So Snoddy, why _are_ you da height ya are?"

Snoddy shrugged self-conciously. He knew he was tall, knew it very well, and Mask, being Mask, enjoyed bringing it further to his attention. The newsboy glanced down at her.

"Guess it just runs in da family. At least I've got some muscle undah all dis flesh. Look at you, you're all limbs."

"Bettah a walkin' scarecrow wit brains den a muscle bound ape wit air between his ears."

This kind of contest of wits had become a usual event for the duo. It helped take their minds off life in the streets, helped take their minds of reality.

"Well, dis is one muscle bound ape who's very happy ta have you for a goilfriend," he said teasingly. The girl's arched brows pinched together slightly, recalling Roof's comment and she and Snoddy being a pair.

"I ain't your goilfriend," she replied, her mood suddenly darkening.

Snoddy stopped suddenly, not caring about the irate comments of passery-bys who's way had been blocked. A curious expression on his face, he cocked his head to one side and smiled.

"Ya know, I'se made a lota wrong choices in life. I...I nevah was da one who wanted ta stand up and be noticed, just da one dat was _dere,_ sittin' in a corner unnoticed. I nevah really excelled at anything, not even hawkin' da headlines. Nevah had ta fight da women off wit a stick."

This drew a halfhearted grin from Mask, but other than that, she kept silent, wating for him to finish whatever it was he wanted to say.

"And...I dere are prob'ly a lotta things in life I still don't know about." He paused. "But I do know one t'ing."

Mask stopped and stared, the kiss, falling asleep in his arms, the harbour, all coming back to her. She braced herself for anything.

"I'se in love wit ya," he said simply, then a blush spread over his cheeks. "I...I ain't shoah if you return da feelin', but I just wanted ta let ya know. It didn't start out like dis, believe me," he inisted, sounding as though he had just commited a crime punishable by death and was trying to deny it. "It was just...somethin' about ya. A curiosity, mostly. You ain't like other goils, ya know dat?"

"Yeah. I do," she replied immodestly.

Snoddy chuckled. "Anyway, enough of dat. Let's get lunch?"

Suddenly, Mask's appetite deserted her. The turmoil that she had been pushing down for the longest of times surfaced once more, and she shook her head.

"No," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You go ahead. I'll be...I'll be down at da racetrack wit Racetrack."

Snoddy looked dissppointed, but consented and went on his way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"...so, he says he's in love wit me."

Racetrack hadn't even looked like he was so much as vaguely comprehending her words, but by the time she was finished, he spit out a curse, tore his eyes away from the horses on the track and turned to Mask.

"Uh-huh. And what about you?"

"Wha-?" Mask gaped foolishly.

Race looked annoyed. "I mean, what about _you_? Wheah do you stand?"

"I-don't know."

"Well, you'se in trouble. See, sometimes, ya gotta forget about what odder people are feelin' and start thinkin' for yourself."

Mask smirked. "Comin' from a swell-headed underfed wisecrackin' insensitive rude newsboy wit bad taste in vests-" she drew a breath, "-dat was very deep."

Race looked truly offended. "What are ya tawkin' about? Foist off, I'se got a right ta be swell headed. Second, dis vest is just fine. Thoid, I gotta right ta be rude as I want."

"Shoah. Whatevah ya say."

"And fourth," he added, turning his face away from Mask and suddenly going tense, "I'se gotta get outta heah."

Racetrack started making his way through the sea of people, elbowing through, shoving, shoving hard if needed. Mask followed, bewildered, throwing out questions like a gun throws out bullets.

"Hey, what's goin' on heah? Why do ya need ta leave? Someone chasin' ya?"

Racetrack, face set in a determined expression barely heard her.

"Hey, Mask. Cheese it. Dis is trouble. Get back ta Tibby's or your sellin' spot or where ever."

"Just a minute young man!"

Racetrack turned, the blood draining out of his face. The person standing above him was a young man, immaculately dressed, hair combed, probably a fat wallet hidden away somewhere in his pocket, wearing the most furious expression Mask had ever seen in her entire life. She squinted, then turned her face away when she recognized him as a the person she had sold a paper to, the paper with the phony headline "Mayor's daughter runs off with local bartender."

Race turned, looking for some sort of escape, but the man caught his shoulder and held it. "All right, boy," he spat, "we made a bet awhile back. On a whim of mine. I want the money."

It hit Mask, and she realized what was going on. The girl couldn't stop an amused grin from forming. Racetrack was Racetrack, and he would not change, come wind or high weather.

Race held up his hands. "Whoah dere, easy now. Don't get so riled up about it, mistah. It was six cents, and dat was a day ago."

The man exploded. "You _idiot_! That wasn't six cents, it was _sixty dollars,_ and it happened a year ago!"

Mask gasped half mockingly, half genuinely surprised. She turned to the man. "You must be pretty rich ta lay down sixty dollars. And when da kid heah-" she jerked her head towards Race, who glared in return.

"Who you callin' "kid"?"

"-when da kid heah claims somethin' like dat, ya shouldn't believe him. Ya stupid or somethin'?" she asked insolently.

Racetrack sighed. "It's a long story, and yes, it involves alchohol. But it's not what'cha think. I'll tell ya latah; for now, just let me deal wit dis goon."

Race turned, flung the man's hand from his shoulder and faced him. Mask half expected a punch to be thrown, and was surprised when Race gave a nod of consent. "Okay, you win. Ya get da money back right now."

The man looked just as surprised as Mask, but stupidly enough took the "opportunity" when it arose.

"All right, kid. Cough up the cash."

Race dug around in his pockets so convincingly, Mask began to wonder weather or not he had robbed a bank. Suddenly, the newsboy looked up, an expression of wonder on his features.

"Look! Lookit dat, wouldja just _lookit dat_ Mask!" he gaped. "Not shoah of da name...dat horse from down south, California...she's runnin' taday! Can't lose."

The man turned to look for the "dream steed," and in that moment of time, Race made his escape, dragging Mask along with him.

Mask shook her head, halfway between amusement and pity. "Dat's da lamest excuse I've evah hoid. It wouldn'ta fooled a guy just a bit smarter den da moron back dere."

"I wouldn't tawk," he replied coolly. "It's somethin' a picked up from you."

The two of them paused in the doorway of a local bakery, Racetrack lightening a cigar and taking a long drag.

Mask paused, watching as the smoke from his cigar floated into the bright afternoon sun, fascinated with it for no apparent reason. Finally, Race turned to her, quizzical expression on his face.

"I asked ya before. I'll ask ya again," he said teasingly. "Who are ya, and wheah ya from?"

Mask was surprised that she felt no anger, only contentment. And she proceeded to spill her entire story to him, finding the going easier and easier as she went along. When she was finished, Race's eyes were just about the size of the horshoes on the hooves of a Belgian draft horse.

"Ya catchin' flies or somethin'?" Mask asked, nodding towards his open mouth. Race shut it instantly.

"Naw...it's just dat...dat I nevah expected ya ta spill your guts just like dat," he said, snapping his fingers for emphasis.

She laughed easily and held something up for his personal inspection.

"Dat's my cigar!" he yelped. "How'dja...don't tell me you was a pickpocket along wit bein' a lockpick!?"

"You betcha. Now c'mon. Let's see how fast dose legs of yours can carry ya," she replied, darting off with the stolen item. Race hurtled after her, both heading in the general direction of Tibby's.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snoddy was more than surprised when Racetrack blew into the diner, laughing uproariously, then slamming a few coins down on the counter and managing to order a meal between gasps and fits of laughter.

Snoddy cocked an eyebrow at Bumlets. "He been drinkin' or somethin'? Pullin' Mask inta his web of corruption?"

Pie Eater snorted in derision. "Race? I wouldn't be surprised," he said affectionately. Mask entered, seconds behind Race, laughing, though not as uproariously.

In a single, fluid motion, the newsgirl flung off her hat, stole a drink from an annoyed Specs' cup, slid into the booth beside Snoddy, then gave him a kiss, their lips locking almost instantly. He didn't object, just leaning into the gesture, savouring it.

She finally broke away, oblivious to the catcalls and comments assaulting her ears. Normally, arrogance and pride wouldn't have allowed her to so much as say "I love you," but something had washed it away in her. The kiss, in front of everybody, claimed the boy she now considered 'her's.'

Smiling, she lowered her voice.

"Ya got plans tanight?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snoddy and Mask very quickly joined the flow of people headed towards Irving Hall. Medda Larkson had a show on tonight, and Mara Charlotte Delancey was anxious to see what was going on, how an friend of her's was faring, and to spend a little more time with the boy she had now given her heart to.

Snoddy and Mask quickly found their seat, jostled by other members of the audience and both regretting the heavy clothing they had chosen to wear. It now came as a disadvantage due to the immense body heat.

Mask turned towards Snoddy as he addressed her, a contented and mirthful smile on her face, made sweet by trust.

"Hey Mask," Snoddy inquired, "you're Scottish. 'Delancey' ain't a Scottish name."

Mask blushed and ducked her head shyly. "I know. I ain't told anybody me real last name. Ya see, when I was runnin' frmo da orphanage, when I came heah ta New Yawk, I changed it for security reasons, in case anybody wanted ta track me down and bring me back ta dat hellhole."

"So, what is you're real last name."

"Swear not ta breathe a woid ta anyone?"

He didn't say anything; the smile that played over his lips was enough.

"McKeary. Mara Charlotte McKeary."

"Dat sounds more like it," Snoddy replied appreciatively.

"Well, guess it's time ta shut up and start listenin'" Mask grinned as the curtains parted and Medda Larkson walked onstage.

Mask's breath caught int ehr throa.t The songstress was just as she had remembered her, same fiery orange hair, and still, after all these years, able to attract and command the full attention of the men.

As the night wore on, Mask found herself dropping out of the songs and into banter with Snoddy, trying to outdo and outthink him at each turn. Finally, the music ceased and Medda took a bow, gazing out appreciatively at her audience.

Then, her eyes settled on one figure, and she froze.

Mask returned the stare, penetrating green eyes spilling forth a lifetime of memory, opening up.

Snoddy seemed to notice the exchange, and so, wasn't surprised when Medda stopped Mask and called her over at the end of the show.

It was dim, even onstage, but Mask could still make out Medda's facial features. The performer cocked an eye at her and allowed a gentle grin to play over her lips.

"I see ya made it out of the orphanage, kid," she said softly, placing both hands on the table in front of her. Mask nodded.

"Adopted? Or run away?"

"Take a wild guess," came the reply. It would have sounded disrepectful had it not been for the soft tone and disarming posture. Medda's grin grew a bit wider.

"Haven't changed, have ya, kid?"

"Oh yes, I have," Mask replied softly. "I have changed. And for the worst."

"But you're still a craftty one," Medda pointed out, then lifted the lid of the table, which turned out not to be a table at all, but a heavy oaken trunk, inlaid with brass. With great care, the songstress pulled something from within the trunk and held it up, lamplight glittering from it.

"Mara, you remember this?"

Mask's eyes narrowed.

_"...really? I can?"_

"Yeah, it's all yours," Medda replied, beaming at the small child that stood before her. The stage was empty now, the performance over, but the rush that came from actually performing in the play hadn't left Mara. She reached for the mask.

Medda snatched it away at the last second, eyes dancing with amusement. "But, you have to promise to be a good girl and not give your mama such trouble!"

"I promise...I promise! I really do!"

Slowly, Mask came back to reality, reaching out and taknig the object. It was noting special, made of cheap material, the edges bordered with brass that had once sparkled brightly enough to pass for gold, faded feathers attatched to the top, their original color washed out.

"Here ya go, kid," Medda said, laughter in her voice. "If you remember, you fell asleep on the stage and your father had to come pick you up. You forgot it. I saved it for you."

Mask's vision had turned blurry with tears, and she set the object aside and reached out to embrace Medda.

"My God, Medda dere's so many t'ings...I'se forgotten," she said, voice breaking. Her eyes seemed to mist over. "I miss dem, ya know," knowing Medda did know. "Martin. I miss him lots. Me muddah. Me faddah. Hell, he got on me noives sometime, but I even miss Francis!"

Medda seemed surprised. "What in the world do you mean, you miss Francis? Ya see him every day." She allowed a short laugh. "I should think you'd be sick of him by now. Hasn't changed, you know? Same oversized ego, same blonde hair, same ability to charm the girls out of their pants. Or skirts. Trust me, that kid is far from a saint, but we love him anyway."

Mask nodded knowingly. "I know. But da kid you describe now ain't da kid dat I knew before."

"Yes, he's changed, hasn't he?" Medda winked. "Ya know, he needs somebody. A girl to keep him in line?"

"Sorry, Medda. I'se wit Snoddy heah," Mask said, half jokingly.

"T'anks...for lettin' me have da mask and everythin'."

"No need to thank me. No need to thank me at all. I was just returning what originally belonged to you."

The two gazed at each other for awhile, then, unsure of what to say, the newsgirl mumbled a farewell and tramped awkwardly out the door. Medda called her name before she could vanish into the darkness.

"Mara?"

"Mask. I'se called Mask now."

"Mask." Medda formed the word on her tongue as though it were from a foreign new language. "Mask. you're parents...what's there to say? They were good people. They'll be missed."

"I know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The journey back to the Lodging House was a silent one. The duo walked, huddled together for warmth, saying nothing, but understanding each other full well. Finally, Mask broke the silence.

"Ya know, it's funny. Here I am, ready ta let go of da past, when I realize, I'll probably nevah fully let go."

Snoddy glanced at her, puzzled. "Huh?"

"What I mean is, I'se ready ta start again, start a new life," she said, gazing up at him, eyes brilliant in the moonlight. "Ready ta move on. But da things dat've happened ta me, deir what make me, me. Deir a part of me, and I'll nevah forget dem, good and bad."

"I'se glad ta heah dat," he replied, and Mask gazed at him, loving his easy manner and warm, quirky humor. "Like dey say, strength for taday, hope for tomorrow. And if you'se loined dat much, you'se halfway dere."

"Yeah."

And they entered the Lodging House, echoes of their laughter hanging in air so heavy and warm, you could almost taste it.


	4. April Showers

Past Illusion: April Showers 

_"Another day has almost come and gone,  
Can't imagine what else could go wrong,  
Sometimes I'd like to hide away,  
Somewhere and lock the door,  
A single battle lost,  
But not the war"  
  
"'Cause tomorrow's another day,  
And I'm thirsty anyway,  
So bring on the rain"  
  
"It's almost like hard times circle round,  
A couple drops,  
And they all start coming down,  
Yeah I might feel defeated,  
And I might hang my head,  
I might be barely breathing  
But I'm not dead"  
  
"'Cause tomorrow's another day,  
And I'm thirsty anyway,  
So bring on the rain"  
  
No I'm not gonna let it get me down,  
I'm not gonna cry,  
I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight"  
"Cause tomorrow's another day,  
And I am not afraid,  
So bring on the rain  
  
Tomorrow's another day,  
And I'm thirsty anyway,  
So bring on the rain"_  
-Jo Dee Messina, "Bring on the Rain"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spring seemed to go by in a blur, bringing summer along with it, and Mara Charlotte Delancey McKeary, the Mask of Harlem, the Key of Brooklyn, had all but forgotten about a boy she had once known, a boy who went by the alias Gambler, the sometime-leader of Harlem.

But he hadn't forgotten her, or the fact that she posed a threat to his authority.

And nobody ever so much as dreamed of posing a threat to somebody like Gambler, especially in his odd state of mind. Paranoia is a thing easy to slip into, and that went the same for Gambler.

The boy had left Harlem once more and crossed over to Manhattan, and to top that all of had very insolently began hawking the headlines there. Oh, he knew what would happen if Cowboy or any other of the Manhattan newsies caught him, but adrenaline junkie that he was, the thrill gave him pleasure.

Running a hand through his mass of curly dark hair, he gave away the last of his papes, checked his pocketwatch and grinned in satisfaction. Not even close to lunch yet.

_Beat dat, Jack Kelly,_ he thought, sneer pasted onto his handsome features. _Now, ta go and grab lunch in da diner dey claimed as part of deir territory. Who knows, I might run inta da whore who has da gal ta call herself a newsie._

His stride, was as always, confident, cocky. His eyes were lively and alert, contrasting very well with his immaculate style of dressing, something maybe even Spot Conlon might have envied.

Gambler spit, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth at the very thought of the Brooklyn leader.

_Conlon ain't so much as a glorified puppy dog! It takes a fully grown, able male wolf ta handle a pack, someone capable of dealin' wit does kinda things._

Yes, he was confident that given the chance, he would be able to defeat Spot Conlon in wits, a common fistfight, and even outdo him when it came to leadership. Gambler's vanity pretty much rivalled Mask's.

It was April, and unusually sunny for the month, bringing along a series of ironies. Gambler had left Harlem in order to seek out the threat that challenged his authority, not knowing that while he wa gone, Handle, a newsie of his had basically taken over for him. Mask, in turn, had finally come to peace with herself whilst a turmoil was brewing elsewhere, ready to thrust itself into her face. Snoddy, who had expected his relashionship with Blink to worsen after Mask and he had been declared a couple was surprised to find it only strengthened the bond.

Turning a corner, he found himself confronted with a boy, newsie by the looks of him, arms folded over his chest, glaring. Gambler had expected such a reception. Nonchalantly, he sized the Manhattan newsie up.

He was tall and thin, though not as tall as Gambler, locks of curly black hair poking out from under his cap. His features were rather sharp and angular, te body betraying a wiry strength that most likely lay beneath the friendly exposure.

"You da newsie dat's been sellin' papes around heah?"

"Yeah. What's it ta you?"

"A lot. See, dat's me sellin' spot you were standin' in," the other growled. Gambler shurgged.

"So? Ya nevah claimed it. I didn't see ya standin' dere hawkin' headlines, and ya hadn't made a move ta stop me."

"Dat's me sellin' spot," the boy repeated. "Benn sellin' papes dere for forever. I was down wit a cold for a liddle while," he added, voice cool and controlled, "but I'se back now."

"Oh yeah? Dat so?"

"Yeah."

Gambler laughed. This would be too easy. All he had to do was provoke the newsboy enough, and he'd have the fight and probably bloodshed he'd been wanting and lacking for the past few weeks now.

Drawing himself up, the Harlem leader stared down his nose at the Manhattan newsie. "Make me."

"Huh?"

"Ya wantcha spot back you'se gonna halfta fight me for it. Though I doubt a twig like you could even come close ta doin' so."

That was all it took. The boy flew at Gambler, hitting him with an unexpected strength. Gambler staggered backwards for a second, then, while the other boy was still gathering himself together, threw several lightening quick punches at him.

The Manhattan newsie, caught off guard found himself backed into a narrow alleyway.

Gambler let out a hoarse bray of laughter, spreading his hands wide. This was a hot-blooded one.

"C'mon. Ya t'ink ya can take me?"

The boy said nothing, just flew at him once more and found that he had miscalculated. Gambler sidestepped neatly, then caught the boy before he fell to the gruond, slamming him against the wall at the far end.

"Wrong move," he sneered. This was jsut far _too easy_. Drawing his fist back, he punched, drawing blood. The boy coughed a bit, and his struggles grew more feeble. Gambler continued the beating until he was sure his victim was near unconcious.

"Gambler! Gambler! Hey!"

The voice that rang out from the end of the alleyway was all too familiar. A malicious grin spread across hi face, and he turned around. The grin subsided, however, when he found Mask, whom he thought had been alone, backed by several other newsboys.

Mask turned towards Bumlets. "Go get Itey. Get him back ta da Lodgin' House, and make shoah ta stay cleah of da Delanceys." She shook her head. "Dat boy's too quick-tempered for his own good. He takes on da Harlem leader aftah a harsh winter like dat?"

Over the course of winter, Itey's cold had developed into a hacking cough, then turned into full-blown pnemonia. A doctor was out of the question, far beyond the grasp of any of the Manhattan newsies, far too expensive. Kloppman and Specs, using the limited knowledge of health that they had had done their best. Itey had somehow pulled through, and by the end of spring, the sickness was almsot completely gone, and he began hawking the headlines again.

Of course, after his ordeal, getting the living daylights beaten out of him by the notorious Harlem leader hadn't been all that good.

Mask turned to Gambler, and he was surprised to find her facial expression had changed some. Normally, she would be tiptoeing around, trying to steer clear of him, ashamed over his victory. Now she stood, arms crossed over her chest, giving him a look that was both meanacing, disdainful and challenging in one. And he couldn't afford getting soaked, he thought, eyes straying to the three boys standing beside her.

The first was a tall blonde, red bandana and hat hanging on his back identifying him as Cowboy, leader of the Manhattan newsies. The second was a boy of average build, sandy blonde hair sligthly tousled by the wind, leather patch adorning his left eye. The third...

The third was a tall brunette, dark eyes glinting in the sunlight, shooting Gambler a look that could only be called pure hatred, though he wasn't sure why. And the protective arm that he had laid around Mask's shoulders...

Gambler sneered. "So you're Snoddy, right?"

Snoddy looked surprised, then sneered right back. "Yeah. What's it ta you?"

"Found yourself a new whore, I see? She givin' ya what ya want?"

Both Blink and Jack looked slightly taken aback by the last few words.

Gambler noted their looks and nodded, chest still heaving from exertion over the beating. "Oh, I see she ain't toldja yet, huh?" he asked. Mask's facial expression turned to one of panic.

"Gambler," she pleaded, "come on. Ya had your fun."

Jack, Blink and Snoddy all glanced at her, surprised at the sheer _submission_ that seeped into her normally haughty tone.

Gambler gazed at her hungrily. "I'll give ya da facts, Mask. You ain't much of a beauty, but God was it satisfying."

Snoddy lunged forwards, and Mask grabbed his arm, then was thrown forwards by the force of his movement. But it was enough to stop him, and Jack moved forwards in case any more restraint was needed.

Gambler looked as though he wanted to say more, but for some unknown reason, shut his mouth. Mask leaned against Snoddy, trembling at the control she realized the Harlem newsie still had over her.

Then he was gone, clamering nimbly up the wall and vanishing into the streets.

Mask's face was stone, a brick wall. Jack wouldn't breathe a word, neither would Snoddy, and if she told Blink not to, he wouldn't. But, should she fail to do so, she was fair game to his tongue, seeing that he was basically the male equivelant to Rooftop when it came to gossip.

_Rooftop,_ she thought dimly, even as Snoddy placed a hand on her shoulder and led her away. _She shoulda been named Grapevine._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Boots placed his feet very impudently on the table before him, enjoying the waiter's disgruntled look, then moved over to make way for Snoddy and Mask as the duo entered and sat down. Mask didn't bother answering the waiter when he asked to take her order, recieving a mumbled comment on the rudeness of rowdy newsies in return.

Snoddy clasped her shoulder and gave it a firm shake.

"Hey, you okay?"

Boots took the hint, and, with a sly glance backwards, left the two alone.

"Yeah, dat was rough," Mask mumbled, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. "But it happened, so dere."

She looked so mournful, Snoddy was tempted to embrace her, but decided against it. She would take it as a sign of pity, and the girl hated pity when it was being given to her.

"Hey, cheer up," he said, the words coming out awkward on his tongue. "Da boys gotta game of Poker goin' tanight...da ultimate game." He chuckled. "You'll see Race lose a bit more money, I guess."

He expected another round of borooding silence, but recieved a short laugh instead. However, it wasn't because of his comment, but because of Rooftop striding into the diner, coated from head to toe in dirty laundry water. A boy followed, tall as Jack, lanky as Crutchy, hair a fiery red, suggesting a temper, if you were one to stereotype, and eyes a gentle shade of brown, suggesting otherwise.

Mask leaped up to greet both of them, Snoddy giving a curt nod to Roof, then exchanging the traditional spitshake with Handle. Handle was a common sight amongst the Manhattan newsies, something of a wanderer. Harlem was his first permanent 'home.'

Mask smiled. "I trust you've met both of dese bums?" she inquired affectionately. Snoddy chuckled and nodded.

"Just for clarifcation," Mask continued, "dis one's called Handle 'cause...well, you should see 'im wit his daggers. Don't know wheah he loined ta throw da things like dat. Always polishin' deir handles...his favorite pastime. As ya can see, he needs a life."

She paused for effect. "He and Roof are together. So we'se gonna have ta restrain Mush."

Snoddy gave a throaty laugh, inviting them to take a seat, which they did.

Mask joined the conversation, but soon dropped out, gazing out the window, trying to remember the next part of the ballad her father had taught her.

_"As the storm rattles o'er us...Till the dear sheilin' ring...Wi' the light liltin chorus..."_ She groped for the next verse, then finally gave up. Frustrated, and with an unexplainable feeling of forboding hanging over her, the newsgirl thrust her chair back very violently, and left the diner.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next few days were hard ones, cash running low, tempers running high and romance running short. Many of the boys began grumbling amongst themselves about how a thing called love had very quickly fled them, sharing past experiences with previous girls and talking about a time frequently referred to as "The Golden Age."

Mask ignored their complaining, finding herself more alienated from her friends than she had felt in a long time. Even Snoddy backed off, giving her a bit of room and time to herself. Most of this time was spent sitting on Jake's bunk, the top one, and staring out at the sunlight that filtered in through a tiny window in the wall of the Lodging House, hawking headlines, and spending breakfast, lunch and dinner at Tibby's.

The girl couldn't have cared less. Her self esteem lowered another notch, along with her mood, and she found herself glancing over her shoulder more often than not. Racetrack noticed this change in behaviour and finally sat down with her one hot summer's night, out on the steps of the Lodging House.

At first, Mask looked surprised when one of her closest friends abandoned his game of Poker and plunked himself down next to her. The surprise quickly turned to happiness at his prescence, then a strange sort of apathy towards the world around her. She nodded a greeting.

"Hey dere, Mask," he smiled as she threw down a cigar she had been smoking, crushing it beneath her foot then idly toying with it where it lay in the dirt.

"Hey, Race. What happened ta your game of Poker?"

"What's a game of Poker compared ta a friend in need?" he asked. The kind words contrasted sharply with his sardonic tone, and she turned, surprised.

"A friend in need, huh? Well, dis is one friend who don't know much about ya," she said suddenly. Race went silent. "So, wheah are _you_ from?" she asked teasingly.

Race ran a hand through his hair, removing his cap. After a long pause, he finally answered.

"I'se lived heah in New Yawk for as long as I can remembah. If I evah had parents...well, I don't remembah 'em."

"Don't remembah 'em?" Mask repeated, curious.

"Do I heah an echo?" he sighed, lighting up another cigar. "Yeah. I lived undah da care of a factory woiker for a bit. He didn't care much about me, and I don't even know why he bothered keepin' me. It was bound ta happen sooner or latah. He toined me out in da streets-"

Here, Race stopped, going no further. Mask raised an eyebrow in question.

"Den what?"

"Long story. I might tell ya someday."

And Mask marvelled at her friend, now seeing a different side to him. She had always thought of him as Racetrack, plain and simple, complex and impulsive.

This was a boy who hid his hurt behind a facade of wisecracks and insensitivity. She had broken some barriers, but not all, she realized.

_Dese t'ings take time. Don't rush him. You wouldn't want ta be rushed inta spillin' your guts before you was ready._

A streak of something came racing around the corner and came to a dead stop directly in front of the duo. Mask jerked in surprise at first, then relaxed at the familiar glint of blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Roof. What da hell ya doin' heah? Thought you'd be wit Handle."

"No time for dat," Roof gasped. "Listen. It's Gambler. I tell ya, dere's nothin' more dangerous den an insane person on da warpath. And dat's just what-"

"Roof. Tawkin' again. Dat's all goils are good for, dat and a bit of pleasure," a thing voice piped up out of the darkness. Mask's breath caught in her throat, and Racetrack rose to his feet, squinting.

Gambler emerged out of nowhere, a sneer pasting his features. Roof backed off a little, biting her lower lip. Gambler laughed and shoved her aside, giving Race but a fleeting glance.

"Well Mask, tanight's da night. Da end of da road for you."

Mask's voice was expressionless, as was her face when she spoke.

"I ain't done nothin' ta you, Gambler, so just leave me alone. Da choices odder people make ain't mine." She backed off, hands raised. "I nevah asked ta be named leadah. Position's all yours."

"You afraid ta fight me?" he leered, stepping closer, close enough that he could, and did reached out and fondled her cheek, then let his hand stray lower. Mask struck it away, smiling grimly.

"Naw. I ain't afraid. But since ya asked for it-"

She cut herself off, throwing several punches his way, all of which he blocked. She was finally able to get a fist low on his stomach, making him double over. As she stepped back a few paces, he dropped to the ground and allowed his leg to swing, forming an arc that knocked the newsgirl off her feet.

She recovered quickly, and was horrified to come up finding him standing over her, dagger clutched in hand. She turned for an instant, to find Race making his way over to assist her, then gave him a withering look that stopped the boy dead in his tracks.

_Sorry, Race. Dis is one fight I'se fightin' alone. Can't afford anyone gettin' hoit._

The dagger flashed downwards, and she managed to roll to one side just in time, then find her feet once more.

_Let's see how well ya handle rooftops, Gambler,_ she thought, and vaulted over to a stack of barrels lying against the wall of the Lodging House. Painfully and with absolutely no grace whatsoever, she managed to clamber up onto the roof, leaping down on the other side, Gambler close on her heels.

Just as he was about to let himself down, Mask slipped off towards the other side of the building once more, and climbed back onto the roof, taking a random wooden bucket with her. She watched as his feet touched the ground, and allowed the bucket to drop straight on Gambler's head.

He staggered around for a bit, long enough to allow her time to climb off the roof, snatching up a pole of twisted iron she had found lying in the gutter, waiting for him to remove the bucket.

Once he did, she brought the iron crashing down onto his skull. He lurched forwards, stunned.

Boy's gotta head as hard as iron, she thought, vaguely amused.

Gambler came up, blood running down his neck. Mask threw another fist, letting it land on his nose, disgusted at the feel of warm blood gushing through her fingers.

Gambler finally retaliated by grabbing her collar and slamming her against the brick wall, grinning.

"Think ya got me?"

Silence. The girl couldn't do much more but gasp for air, exauhsted limbs trembling.

"Think again!"

The girl was momentarily stunned as he drove a fist into her face, paused, reconsidered, then drove it into her face three times over. She saw stars for a moment, then pulled away, staggering back to the front of the building.

Before she could fully recover, Gambler was on her again, fists flying. The girl managed to recover, and the two went down together, fighting tooth and nail. Mask was surprised Gambler hadn't drawn the infamous dagger again.

The duo broke away, and in the back of her mind, Mask dimly wondered where Race had gone to. She didn't have time to think further, Gambler grabbing her around the throat, fingers clenching. She struggled, and finally managed to break away, panting hard. To her dismay, she found Gambler, although he was covered in blood, was braething lightly, poised to strike again.

She dropped back, trying to anticipate his next move but finding that her brain refused to think. He lunged at her again, and she tried to sidestep, but he was too fast for her.

Her eyes widened as she saw a flash of metal, and felt a sharp pain in her side. She was barely aware of the blood that seeped through her clothing-_her_ blood, and just dimly felt herself hitting the pavement as she fell.

She was also dimly aware of something gold creating an arc through the air and crashing down on the side of Gambler's head.

Looks a lot like...like

Suddenly, she wasn't in Manhattan, but far away in a small town deep in the heart of Virginia, watching two boys she had once know: a Martin McKeary and a Francis Sullivan playing cards.

Martin brandished the card. "I would've won anyway," he laughed. "Ace of Spades. The Death Card."

Then she saw nothing but life, flourishing, and green, a verdant green as was never seen before...

And after, that, she saw no more, even as the sky opened up, letting down bitter tears, and the wind sang a song of mourning.

Snoddy came racing down the stairs and out of the doors of the Lodging House, Racetrack three steps ahead of him. The duo were followed by almost the entire population of Manhattan newsboys.

It was an odd sight, most of the newsies already in nothing but underwear, having gotten ready for bed by now, standing in the frigid night air under skies that poured rain.

Snoddy dropped to his knees beside his fallen comrade, cradling her head in his lap. He barely noticed Spot Conlon materialize out of the darkness, right hand covered in fresh blood, gold tipped cane discarded on the damp ground.

Snoddy's face was filled with disbelief, feeling very vividly as Mask's lifeblood seeped into his clothes, staining his shirt a deep scarlet. He glanced up at the Brooklyn leader.

Spot's face was expressionless, and he gazed disspassionately down at the fallen girl, Key of Brooklyn, Mask of Harlem, Mask of Manhattan. His jaw was set.

"A life for a life. I made sure of dat." His voice was hollow. "You'll find Gambler's body somewhere back dere," he added, jerking a thumb in the direction. Jack gaped.

"You..." he drew in a sharp breath. "You...?"

Spot said nothing, just tossed Gambler's bloodied dagger, watching as it came to rest at Mask's feet, then letting the rain pour, allowing it to fill his ears in a single, thunderous noise, the droplets of crystal dancing over the pavement.

And the stars, though partially obscured by clouds, stood as witness.

A life for a life.

The words repeated themselves over and over in Snoddy's head, and he turned his face skywards, letting the water dribble and course in rivulets over his cheeks and eyelids.

April shower...just another April shower...

And then the world faded into darkness.

Nothing but darkness.


	5. Sky's The Limit

Who Ever Said Sky's the Limit? 

_"Nothing costs so much  
As what is bought by prayers."_  
-Seneca

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rooftop watched from where she sat on the makeshift pile of rags and blankets that served as her bed, watched as the boy she had previously called 'her's' began making eyes at Snare. What little sunlight there was filtered in through a single, shattered window, illuminating temptress and victim alike.

_Enough ta make me sick,_ she thought, slender fingers clutching violently at the blankets beneath. _Wouldn'tve made me dat sick if it was me instead of Snare,_ she added hesitantly. Then, hardening once more, the newsgirl turned away.

Months. How many months had it been since news of the death of both Mask and Gambler had arrived in Harlem? News usually wasn't that slow to circulate amongst the newsies. Roof's eyes shifted back to where Snare and Handle sat, now kissing passionately.

_Snare. She's called dat for a good reason._

And suddenly, everything was very clear to the girl. She was alone in the world, alone, totally, painfully, clearly alone. Temptation and a broken relashionship had taken Handle from her, death and Gambler had stolen her heart's sister away, and Spot Conlon, having harnessed death, had banished Gambler into eternity.

_What's happened? Where da hell did da Golden Ages go?_ she wondered mournfully.

The Golden Ages, for Harlem at least, were long gone. They had fled after Blade had stepped down, finding leadership too hard to handle, giving the title to a flighty, naive and totally unprepared girl by the name of Crash.

_I don't know what he saw in her,_ Roof wondered absently. Things had gone well for about a year more, then, for unknown reasons, Blade vanished from Harlem, never to be seen again. There were rumors that he had fled to Brooklyn, rumors that he had fled to Santa Fe, to Virginia, perhaps. Roof snorted in derision.

_Rumors. We newsies thrive on rumors._

Something had snapped in Crash, signaling the end of everything good. The girl had turned hard, tempermental, and more capable of overseeing things than ever. She didn't tolerate defiance amongst the ranks, and that didn't fly well for Gambler. The boy had rebelled against her at every chance, causing her to fly off the handle more often than not.

The bickering between Gambler and Crash had very quickly turned into something a lot more serious. Over time, it evolved into a bitter struggle for leadership, and all knew something was going to give very, very soon.

It did.

Nobody was really sure how it happened, how it started, but everybody knew the facts: Crash was dead, killed by Gambler's dagger before the eyes of Mask, who, ironically enough, was seeing a foreshadowing of her own fate. Gambler asserted himself as leader, and none opposed him. Nobody was that stupid.

From somewhere beyond the abandonded warehouse, churchbells pealed. And tears welled in Roof's normally mirth-filled blue eyes. She shot a glance at Handle to find that he and snare were long gone. Most were out going about the business of selling papers, and she found herself alone.

_Alone._

April had come and gone, taking with it the usual showers, a single death. Roof wished desperately that she could truthfully say that Mask's passing had been one filled with honor and glory, but it wasn't so. The girl had died at the hands of her rapist, stabbed by the dagger that had killed her leader, left to rot in the gutter.

_No. Not rot in da gutter,_ Roof reminded herself, bringing back images of a priest, old face weathered and worn, decked out in robes bearing the symbol of the holy cross.

_Who was da man? A friend of one of da newsies, for shoah. Dey would've nevah have had da cash ta pay for a fueneral on deir own. 'Least we know Mask's...at peace._

At peace? Roof snorted at her own thought. She had been far from at peace, knowing Gambler had won, knowing she had left behind a boy who loved her dearly, friends, brothers and sisters who loved her dearly.

Roof shut her eyes, listening to the wind whistle outside, the jaunty tune it performed contrasting sharply with the chill, drab, October's day.

_It was warm in the church, and the atmosphere was filled with the safety and sancitity most of the newsies did not feel. Light filtered in through the stained glass windows adorning the walls, and Snoddy's eyes were cast down, not lifting to so much as glance at the casket._

Roof studied the boy out of the corner of her eye, barely hearing the priest's words. The pew beneath her felt cold and hard, and she felt out of place.

Mask,_ she thought, not quite believing her friend could hear hear but trying anyway,_ Gambler's dead. Just like you. A life for a life.__

And she was filled with something that seemed totally out of place at such an occasion, at such a location: joy in vengeance. It made her afraid of herself, made her feel sick, but what more was there to feel?

Spot, unexpectedly, had not shown up at the funeral. He has his reasons,_ Roof told herself, but the girl couldn't help but feel bitter, as though Spot were somehow to blame._

Reaching over, she hesitated a moment before taking Snoddy's hand in her's. He looked up, startled, and Roof wondered if it was Mask he was seeing instead of her, if it was the newsgirl's green eyes looking back, if it was her hand that had twined its fingers with his.

And they glanced at each other, and simply knew. They had known Mask the same way, but seen her through different angles. And nothing could ever snatch the stolen moments they had shared with the newsgirl. Nothing...

And Roof bowed her head and cried.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snoddy's hands were jammed deep into his pockets against the cold, squinting as the wind drove itelf into his eyes. He wasn't selling today, hadn't sold yesterday and didn't intend to sell tomorrow. The atmosphere was subdued, as expected, and he had glanced at each of his friends and wondered what in the world was going through their minds.

And in his mind, he had decided one thing: no one could mourn for Mask the way he had and was continuing to do.

She had thrown a curtain over herself, and Snoddy had been one of the first to unveil it. The unveiling had led to two hearts, tarnished though they were, joining as one.

_But what happens when da odder half is gone?_ he wondered bleakly.

And a wave of anger and bitterness swept over him. Their relashionship had been a fragile thing, hanging in the balance, as had their love. But it had been strong.

_Lotsa people think strong and fragile have nothin' ta do wit each odder. How wrong dey are._

Hanging in the balance. Everything hung in the balance, since the day when Man had first been blessed with Life, to the day the first newsie had ever screeched out a blaring, shameless lie.

"Snoddy! Hey, Snoddy! Wait up, will ya?"

Snoddy didn't even bother turning at the sound of Jack's familiar voice. He kept on walking without a backwards glance, until the Manhattan leader finally caught up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Snoddy bristled, whirling around. "Don't touch me," he said with frosty simplicity.

Jack backed up a pace or two, having expected such a reception. "Hey, if dat's how ya feel, fine," he stated, the words coming out harsher than intended. Snoddy sighed.

"Sorry, Jack. I dunno what's gotten inta me."

Jack shook his head. "It's okay ya feel dis way, Snoddy. I understand." Jack paused. "Well, actually, I don't. She was..." his voice trailed off, then came back more forceful than ever. "She was a friend of mine. A sister. Dere for me all my life. And I thank her for dat alone. But I wasn't da one in love wit her. You were."

Snoddy drew in a sharp breath, as though he were about to say something, but hesitated, and decided against it.

"I ain't used ta dealin' wit dese kinda things," Jack continued. "But da thing is, she wouldn't want us ta sit around mopin' like dis for da rest of our lives. It'd make her feel guilty," he added with a chuckle. Snoddy didn't join in.

Jack regarded his friend a moment longer. "I've said my goodbyes. Maybe you should say your's."

Snoddy's eyes widened, and he turned on Jack. "How da hell could ya say somethin' like day? How da hell could ya treat dis so casually?"

Jack snapped right back, his patience wearing thin. "Look, I ain't treatin' dis casually. But ya gotta understand..." his eyes seemed to glaze over, somebody- he wasn't quite sure who's- words came flying back to him. "...ya gotta understand. Life goes on. Life goes on no mattah what. Good men...and women...die. But life goes on."

"Yeah, right," the latter snarled, and, taking several sharp turns, managed to elude Jack, losing him in the crowded streets of Manhattan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Racetreack and Blink sat at the steps of the Lodging House, having decided to take a short break after lunch. Race leaned back, stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes.

"Jeez, I needs ta get more sleep," he stated listlessly.

Blink shook his head. "Quit it, Race. Ya don't need more sleep. You'se just tryin' ta make conversation ta avoid tawkin' about...y'know."

Race didn't even bat an eye in the face of such blunt analysis. Instead, he took a long drag from his cigar and turned to Blink. "I wouldn't tawk."

"Naw. You're right." Blink paused, then let out a chuckle. Race glanced at him with raised eyebrow. "Nothin'," Blink said in response. "It's just...I remembah how taken I was by Mask when she foist showed up heah. I mean, she ain't a great beauty or anythin', it's just...dere was somethin' about her. Y'know what I mean?"

"No. I don't," Race replied blankly. "We had a hate-hate relashionship goin' foist few months...but den, she came ta be someone I-" Race, being Race, and not prone to spewing things he considered too poetic broke off, but blink understood.

There was silence for awhile, until Racetrack spoke up once more, voice cracking with emotion.

"My God, Blink, I just lost one of me best friend," he said forlornly. Blink, unsure of what to do or say, could only nod in agreement, then pull out a deck of worn, tattered cards.

"Poker, anyone?"

"Anyone?" Race snorted. "Dere's just you an' me. And I nevah toined down a good game of Poker." He paused. "And aftah awhile, niether did Mask."

Blink dealt the cards, and they played in silence.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The snow came early the next day, falling soft and silent on the pavement, building up in drifts and hills. Fortunately, the wind refused to blow, and Snoddy found the going easier. Hefting his bundle of papes, the ones he had sworn not the sell, he headed off towards his selling spot, feeling strangely ashamed of himself.

_Why? 'Cause ya weren't dere ta protect her? Ya always arrived a second too late,_ he berated himself.

"Snoddy!"

This time, he turned and waited for the blonde girl to catch up. Roof's hair was coated in snowflakes, flying free as usual. And for a moment, her eyes were green, her locks raven, and her mood quiet and brooding. Then, the newsboy shook himself back to reality.

"Roof. What're ya doin' heah? Ain'tcha supposed ta be wit Handle right now?"

Roof's face flushed. "He...he and I...we ain't togeddah no more."

Snoddy nodded. "I'se real sorry," he said, more out of politeness than actual pity.

Roof shook her head. "Don't be," she replied automatically. They trudged along for a few seconds more, neither saying a single word, letting silence speak for itself. Finally, Snoddy turned.

"So...who-" he hesitated, "who's takin' over Harlem?"

Roof shook her head. "Nobody. It's just been one disaster aftah another. We'se tryin' ta pick up da pieces, we really are," she stated, sounding as though she were trying to convince herself, "but it ain't woikin'. Nobody's really shoah wheah ta start. Nobody wants ta step up and began puttin' life like we knew it back together."

Snoddy said nothing, but Roof knew he understood. The Harlem newsgirl shook herself out of another round of emptiness. "Anyway, dat ain't what I came heah ta say."

"Den what did ya come heah ta say?" Snoddy asked, amusement and curiosity peaked. Roof shook her headin annoyance.

"Shaddup and listen! You and me are goin' to da graveyard taday," she said flatly. Snoddy balked at the prospect.

"No. You go alone."

Roof stopped, hands on hips, glaring up at the newsboy. "Hey, I didn't come heah to sulk and mope! I came heah ta pay me final respects to a good friend and sister. And she was your goil, Snoddy! Your goil! How could you just leave it like dat, leave her six feet undah witout a woid of love or comfort or goodbye or whatevah?"

The words and statements were harsh, but Snoddy found himself agreeing with them.

And, hesitantly, he followed her down streets that were blanketed in white.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The cememtary.

As a young child, Roof had been throughly superstitious. She had grown up in a family that was highly religious, but dabbled in the idea of spirits and ghosts and whatnot. It had caused a million fears and insecurities in her to breed and multiply, and under normal circumstances, this place would have been the last place she would want to set foot in.

But not today.

Today, it was strangely peaceful. Roof was tempted to say that it had a festive air about it, but feared that would be a bit too irreverent, even for her. Turning to Snoddy, she nodded and led the way, stopping in front of a grave that, unlike most of the others, was devoid of tombstone.

Kneeling, she reached out and placed a hand on the cold earth.

"Heya Mask, how ya doin'?" she asked softly, expecting no reply and not getting one. "I'se heah..." she choked, two tears streaming down either of her cheeks. "...I'se heah ta say goodbye." Pause. "But...I'll nevah really say goodbye y'know? Ya left behind too many memories for dat. Well, t'anks for everythin'."

The girl rose and turned to Snoddy, then back to the mound of earth. "Bet you're lovin' da attention you're gettin', peacock," Roof half laughed, half choked out.

And then, she was crying, sobbing, embracing Snoddy and having him embrace her in turn. The duo stood like that for a long time, then finally turned and left without a backwards glance, Snoddy knowing that that was far from the last visit he would pay to his companion's final resting place.

_But it ain't her final restin' place,_ he thought, casting his gaze skywards, casting his gaze at the church that rose just to his left, steering Roof and himself through its doors. _It ain't da final restin' place for her at all._

And Spot Conlon watched them go, hidden in the shadows of a grove of trees standing guard over the place. And he cast eyes over the peaceful scene of so many people, sleeping, resting, before vanishing once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The church had always made Roof feel small, unimportant. But not anymore. She was suddenly one with it, one with the alabaster walls, the glorious, stained glass windows, the pulpit, the pews, and everything the building itself represented. She stood in front of the alter, gazing up at the lifeless eyes that stared unseenigly back down at her, beautiful and sorrowful at once.

The girl turned to Snoddy nervously. "You Catholic?"

"No," he replied. "I nevah believed in God." He seemed to hesitate. "But everythin' dat's happened...and when I look at dis buildin'...I..." she groped for words. "...dere hasta be _somethin'_, _someone_, out dere."

Roof smiled. "I..." she paused, then smiled, a thought leaping to mind. ""Sky's da limit, hmn? Well, lemee tell ya a liddle somethin'."

Snoddy nodded, waiting expectantly. Roof went on.

"Mask nevah believed dat. She was one a' dose rare people dat goes through life fightin' ta remove dose limitations."  
  
Roof turned eyes that seemed infinately huge upon Snoddy. Irony danced within.  
  
_Irony. Mask wanted to remove those limitations. But she brought them down on herself, put more and more weight upon them as life went by. Such an unresolved girl...such an unresolved being..._

And Roof bowed her head, clasping her hands in prayer and realized that she was never truly alone. Had she been paying closer attention, the Harlem newsgirl would have noticed the piece of paper Snoddy slipped into her pocket before exiting the church, unobtrusively, silently. He vanished against the overcast sky, another drifter caught in the limbo of the frightening balancing act called living.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Okay...that about wraps things up. Jeez, this is sooo old. I wrote back when I was fourteen (like I'm sooo much older now *sarcasm). Oh well, might as well stick it up here to keep up the feeble number of fanfics I have up.  
  
Thanks for the reviews! =) This is really late, but... I don't own Newsies...blah blah blah... not making any money out of this...wish I was...*falls asleep*


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